


Through Eerie Chaos

by MediaWhore



Series: Through Eerie Chaos [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Aristocracy, Aristocrat Louis, Arranged Marriage, Fluff and Angst, Forced Marriage, Ghost Hunter Niall, Ghost Hunters, Ghost Louis, Haunted Houses, Haunted Manor, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, Louis' background is vaguely inspired by Downton Abbey, M/M, Not too detailed, Ok apologies in advance for how little Liam is in this but his role was mostly off screen, Or should I say talks of arranged marriage and forced marriage?, Period-Typical Homophobia, Photographer Harry, Slow Burn, Supernatural Investigation, librarian zayn, love you liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 102,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediaWhore/pseuds/MediaWhore
Summary: For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.





	1. Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again! Another year, another big bang. Another weird historical fantasy AU... I really hope you guys will like this one :):) 
> 
> A million thanks to my beta [K](http://itreachedthatpoint.tumblr.com) who read and reread this mess, who fixed my missing commas, who helped me plot this whole thing, and who endured my constant texting and anxiety about it. You're the very best even when you don't trust my extensive vocabulary <3 
> 
> And, of course, a huge thank you to the talented [neon--diamonds ](http://neon--diamonds.tumblr.com) who is still my favourite fanartist and made amazing art for this fic. I'm so lucky I got to work with you again and it was a pleasure! 
> 
> Apologies in advance for any inevitable historical inaccuracy that slipped through. My sources were a mix of Downton Abbey, Wikipedia and way too many PBS documentaries about Stately Homes, soooo...

_“I owe more to the dead,_

_with whom I will spend a much longer time,_

_than I will ever owe the living.”_

_Sophocles, Antigone (trans. Robert Bagg)_

 

“How is it then?” Gemma asks, voice echoing through the speakerphone into Harry’s new room.

Harry stops in his track, hands filled with what he thinks is a box of shoes. He probably should have listened to his mother when she suggested labelling all of his items, but the move happened so fast after his internship ended without a permanent job that he didn’t really have the time to consider his options or pack smartly.

He gives the room a quick once over, eyes passing swiftly through the small desk sitting near the tiny window and the bed, the two most important furniture in the still bland room. There’s a small bookshelf and a chair, and of course the two towers of boxes Harry just finished carrying from downstairs, but despite the space they take up, the room still feels empty.

“Haz? You still there?” Gemma asks from where he discarded his phone on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, putting the box back on the floor and taking a few steps and letting himself fall on the mountain of sheets and pillows his mother dropped on the bed earlier. “It’s alright,” he says with a shrug, fumbling for his iphone to take her off speakerphone, bringing the phone close to his ear.

Gemma laughs loudly in response. “Alright?” she asks mockingly. “Mum hasn’t stopped talking about it for weeks, she said it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen in her life and that the village was so charming she thought she’d die at the thought of living there.”

“I guess it is charming,” Harry agrees. Truth be told, he hasn’t really had the time to see much of Hillsbridge beyond the quick drive through on their way to the new house after Robin picked him up from the train station. The place looks nice enough, but nothing to go crazy about. “I didn’t have much time to explore, to be honest. I’ve been helping mum unpack the kitchen stuff all afternoon.”

“She’s working you hard?”

Harry rolls his eyes. He can’t exactly complain given his situation. “Not really, I’m going to be living here too now, it’s only fair that I help.”

There’s a short moment of silence on the other side like Gemma is pondering whether she should ask about _it_ or not. Harry starts picking at the bundle of sheets underneath and around him, rubbing the material nervously between his thumb and index, thankful that at least she can’t see him fidgeting. It’s always been his tell.

“Hey,” Gemma starts a bit too softly and Harry braces himself for the worst, “are you sure you’re alright?” she ends up asking and it’s not as bad as it could have been, truth be told. It’s not overly specific which means Harry can be vague in response and she can’t say anything.

It’s all good. He’s all good.

“I’m good,” he replies with an annoyed huff. “Wonderful, even,” he adds pointedly. It’s not technically a lie. At best, it’s a slight exaggeration.

“Even with -”

“Don’t,” Harry begs, closing his eyes. Things have gone a bit… wrong in the past few weeks. The last thing he wants is to spend hours moaning about it.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time with mum and Robin,  at least,” Gemma says encouragingly and it’s true, it will be nice to get to see his family more than during the holidays and a few weekends here and there. Still, he wasn’t exactly planning on moving back home after his degree. He went out into the world, convinced he would easily conquer it… Not quite.

He hums distractedly in response.

“A lot of people go back to living with their parents after uni,” she continues and Harry knows she’s trying to be reassuring, but she’s not being exactly helpful.

“You didn’t,” Harry argues because it’s true and it hurts a bit, to know that he failed where Gemma hasn’t.

“Still, it’s not uncommon. And it’s only for a little while.”

“S’just…” Harry shrugs, wishing he had the guts to admit what he truly feels.

It’s humiliating is the thing. And admitting it would be even more so.

“I guess at least it’s not back in Holmes Chapel,” Harry ends up saying. That would have been too hard for him to live through, all those people who have known him since birth being witnesses to his bruised ego and his broken heart.

“Exactly!” Gemma exclaims. “New people, maybe new boys.... ”

“Stop,” Harry says warningly, letting himself curl into a comma and wrapping an arm around one of the pillows, cuddling a tad too close. He’s not ready to talk about this. Not yet.

“I’m not saying anything,” Gemma argues.

“Just… not yet, okay? I’m trying to settle in and distract myself.”

“Alright, alright,” she agrees quickly. “What are you planning on visiting first?”

Harry sighs loudly. The village is basically the size of a pea, there’s not much to visit. “Is there anything _worth_ visiting?” he asks, disenchanted and rhetorical. He rubs his feet together, briefly entertaining the thought of taking off his wool socks. He thought that having his bedroom in the attic would mean that the first cold echoes of the fall would not reach him but despite having been active around the house all day, he’s still freezing.

“You tell me,” Gemma snorts. If their mother could hear them she’d give them a stern talking to. She fell in love with the place quicker and deeper than she did with their stepdad Robin, and that’s saying something considering she’s often referred to him as the love of her life.

“The photos look great though,” she adds, almost like she’s scared Anne somehow managed to hear her. “I can’t wait to visit.”

“Really?” Harry asks, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Gemma can’t even see him right now and despite appearances, he’s not actually a moody teenager. He inhales deeply, trying to calm down. He’s not mad at Gemma, or at this place. There’s no point in behaving poorly when the only person he’s disappointed in is himself. “What does Google say is interesting here, anyway?” he ends up asking, because no matter how casual Gemma seems right now he knows his sister. She’s done her research already. He’s sure of it.

“Well, not much,” she admits, and he can hear the sound of her fingers hitting the keyboard as she probably pulls up the Wikipedia page he’s already read three times on the train. “The population is a bit depressing, but surely there’s at least one kindred spirit for you there, it can’t only be retired people hoping for an idyllic and tranquil way of life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry chuckles, thinking about how bright-eyed their mother looked when she came back from the store. “Mum’s already made three friends,” he admits and he’s not quite sure how that happened when they’ve only been here for less than twelve hours.

“What?” Gemma giggles.

“Yeah, she went to the store to buy light bulbs and now she’s having drinks with Sharon on Thursday and she’s been invited to book club.” He passes a hand through his short hair, a habit he hasn’t quite been able to rid himself of in the couple of months since he impulsively chopped his mane off. “They’re reading _Eat Pray Love_.”

“Nobody’s reading _Eat Pray Love_ anymore,” Gemma argues. “Everyone’s already read it on their quest to self-fulfillment. Is this town stuck ten years in the past?”

“ _Eat Pray Love_ hasn’t been published for ten years.”

“Actually, it was published in 2006 so more than ten years,” Gemma argues, like the know-it-all she’s always been. If Harry didn’t love her so much, he’d find her very irritating.

“It’s scary that you know that,” he mumbles into his pillow.

“It’s called googling things, you -”

“Apparently,” Harry interrupts loudly, “it’s their third time covering that book. It’s the organiser’s favourite.” Harry knows because their mum was so excited to be included in the community so quickly that she had to share. “She invited me along, actually.”

“Please tell me you’re going,” Gemma begs.

“Stop taking the piss, of course, I’m not going.”

“Well then, what are you going to dooooo?” she teases. “Not much to visit,” she adds, bringing the conversation back to what they were discussing. “Apart from the old Manor, but it seems to be more ruins than anything else. There’s not even an official page for it. You’d think they’d want to bank on their _only_ attraction,” she scoffs.  

“I think I’m probably going to be looking for jobs Gemma, not playing tourists.”

“You can spend the first few days playing tourists,” she replies exasperated. “You finished your photography degree five seconds ago, you’re allowed a break you know.”

“Half the people I graduated with already have a job, or an internship that will most likely lead to a job. I’m already behind, Gems.”

“Well, if I follow your logic it also means half of the people have nothing lined up, it’s nothing to be so worked up about.”

Easy for her to say, between her day job and the contracts she occasionally has as a freelance journalist for her friend’s online magazine.

“Yeah,” he agrees petulantly before adding: “except half of those are starting a Masters so they don’t count. Which means I’m in the lower, loser half of -”

“Are you done?” Gemma asks loudly, interrupting his pity party. Just for once he’d like to be loudly miserable and get away with it. “The drama queen act is over?”

“I’m just stating facts.”

“You had an incredible internship that looks great on your CV and your portfolio is gorgeous. It might take a while but we both know something is bound to come up, so stop moaning about it.”

“I got fired from an incredible internship,” Harry reminds her because he’s definitely not close to forgetting about it. And to think they’d assured him a permanent place after graduation…

“They couldn’t keep you on because of budget cuts,” Gemma says, and she sounds a bit outraged. Harry would hope it’s on his behalf, but he knows her too well to assume such things. “I think we’re far away from getting _fired,_ ” she adds rationally. “Nobody gets fired with a letter of recommendation that glowing.”

“I guess,” Harry whispers. “I just feel stupid for believing them.”

“Why would you though? The situation changed, that’s nobody’s fault. I know it’s not been a very good week for you, but things will look up. I promise. And in the meantime, you can enjoy the idyllic lifestyle of Hillsbridge village.”

“I have to-”

“For five seconds Harry,” Gemma interrupts him before letting out a long sigh. “Just…” she sighs again. “Just take a break for five seconds. Spend some time with mum, visit the village, go take pictures of that creepy old house… Hell, go to that book club! I don’t care, just please.”

“Fine,” Harry snorts. “I suppose I can take a break this week while we fully move in the house and I visit the place.”

“I’m holding you to this,” Gemma replies threateningly. “I’m serious, I’ll ask mum if you’ve been doing stuff. She’s worried too so she won’t mind spying on you.”

“I already said yes, Gems! I’ll send you pictures of the village as proof if you need it,” he offers, assuming she won’t deem it necessary.

“Yes,” she agrees quickly, to Harry’s surprise.

Not exactly what he was expecting, but okay.

“Send me pictures of the creepy mansion,” she asks excitedly. “I want pictures of fancy things rotting.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s private property,” Harry argues. He’s not certain but the village’s website mentioned the owner of the Estate doesn’t live in the village and it doesn’t seem like there’s a project to renovate the property to make it accessible to the public.

“Yes, because you’ve never broken into abandoned places to take pictures before,” Gemma says, sarcastically.

“Not often,” Harry argues.

He’s felt uncomfortable every time, but the results have always been amazing. Actually, some of his favourite photographs he’s ever taken come from an abandoned church a few miles from his university. He wasn’t even looking for it originally, but it had rained that day and when it got too intense for him to continue is daily jogging, he’d stumbled upon a _no trespassers_ sign that could only indicate a refuge was probably close by. And found refuge he had. He’d taken a few snaps of the place on his iphone and promised himself to come back with his proper camera for a few more. To this day, his _Abandoned Faith_ album on Flickr remains his most popular.

It’s not like he was planning on starting a new personal photography project while living in Hillsbridge but Gemma might actually be onto something. The image he found online of Old Hillsbridge Manor flickers through his mind for a second. Harry is not an expert in architecture, but it has a Gothic revival vibe that could be interesting. And it would be a way to use his time.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Gemma says softly and she knows him too well, knows the way he’s gotten quiet means that he’s thinking about the whole thing, that he’s started planning already.

“I hate you,” Harry replies teasingly. ‘I’m going to _have_ to break into this place now that you’ve put the idea into my head. If I get caught I’m naming you as my accomplice, I hope you realise that.”

Gemma laughs loudly. “Excuse you, I put nothing in your head, I simply asked for a couple of photos, you’re the one who’s been silently scheming for the past few minutes.”

“Accomplice _and_ instigator,” Harry insists, uncurling himself and stretching until his toes reach the end of his bed.

“I will deny it to my grave and I’m a much better liar than you. The judge would have to side with me.”

Harry groans and scrunches his nose. She’s not wrong. “Well,” he replies with a slight shrug that his sister cannot see, “I guess I’ll just have to be careful not to get caught.”

*

Once he’s hung up, Harry takes a few minutes to actually make his bed properly and starts unpacking some of his winter clothes, hanging his various sweaters the tiny closet carefully. It’s not quite cold enough for them yet, but he knows how quickly fall slips into winter, especially here in the north. He gets through two bags of stuff before his stomach starts protesting.

He reaches for his phone in the back pocket of his jeans and swears under his breath when he realises how late it’s gotten.

Once he gets downstairs, he is stopped on his way to the kitchen by the sight of his mother kneeling in the living room, surrounded by three opened boxes of books.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, frowning at her. She’s clearly not unpacking them, just shuffling them around with a concentrated look on her face.

“Unpacking,” she mumbles at the same time as Robin says: “Looking for _Eat Pray Love_.”

“Ah,” Harry nods in understanding.

“I clearly remember putting it in one of the those,” Anne says stubbornly.

“Have you guys eaten yet?” Harry asks, pointing towards the kitchen. He knows it’s still a work in progress, so he’s not quite sure what is available for him to consume right now. He’s feeling tired and lazy, if he’s being particularly honest with himself. There’s a small part of him that wants to be taken care of now that he’s back home, wants to just wrap himself in a blanket and pretend his failures don’t exist.

“There’s some pizza leftovers in the fridge,” Robin replies, switching the TV channel to a football match. “We were gonna call you, but we figured you probably wanted to take the time to settle in.”

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he replies half-heartedly. “I did, thanks,” he adds, turning around to microwave himself a slice.

He brings it back to the living room, tiptoeing his way through the books scattered on the floor before finding a free spot not too far from the telly.

“Don’t eat on the floor love,” Anne sighs and Harry almost missed that, the kind yet firm parental judgment.

“The coffee table isn’t set yet,” Harry mumbles through his bite, looking to his left at the pieces Robin hasn’t had the time to put together.

“You’ll hurt your back,” she argues, sighing at the sight of a gardening book. “Where is that damned book,” she mutters.

“You’re really going to book club then?”

“Of course, I’m going. Gotta keep myself occupied have I? And it’s a great way to meet the people in our new village. You really should come, honey. I’m told there are a lot of younger people in it. And you’ll need something to fill your days.”

“Actually,” Harry starts hesitantly, “I think I’m sorted already.”

“Did you find a job?” Robin asks, muting the telly. He looks confused and almost hurt at the thought that Harry could have found something to do in the past twelve hours and still hasn’t shared the news.

“I wish,” Harry snorts. “No, just an idea for a project. A personal project. I was talking to Gems earlier and it gave me an idea. It’s not exactly what I had planned but… It’ll keep my mind occupied and keep my creativity going.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Anne asks softly, dropping the book back into the box and reaching for Harry, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“About the fact that I got fired, or the fact that I got dumped?” Harry asks, trying to remain casual.

“Both. Either.”

“Thanks, but not really. I just… want to find a job and keep myself distracted until that happens.”

Anne hums and shares a look with her husband. “Healthy coping mechanism, darling,” she teases, going back to her books.

“It sucks,” Harry admits, hating the way his voice cracks. “But it’s just for now and I don’t want to dwell on it, so I’d really appreciate if you didn’t either.”

“Of course Harry, whatever you need.”

There’s a small moment of silence before Robin unmutes the telly. “Can we know more about this creative project of yours, then?” he asks before groaning when his team lets a goal in.

“Hummm,” Harry says, thinking about it for a second. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing yet. “I’ll show you once I get a clearer idea?” he offers.

“Fair enough,” Anne says with a smile.

*

The next morning, Harry wakes up with the sun and he glares at his window for almost a full minute before he finally sighs and decides to get up. He doesn’t usually mind waking up early but, these days, there’s a small part of him who wants to stay in bed and wallow in self-pity. He adds _find curtains_ to his mental to-do list, before grabbing a pair of black jeans and a sweater and heading for a shower.

Once done, he mentally psyches himself up to do a bit of cleaning before eating breakfast, grabbing the first box in the corner and continuing to unpack. He manages to get through two boxes and a half in about an hour and while his room is mostly still a mess, he’s happy to notice it’s starting to look lived-in, and not like a creepy attic where an entire family’s history is hidden away in old smelly boxes. It’s not perfect yet, but all of his clothes and over half of his books are unpacked.

Not bad.

He gets downstairs to grab breakfast and is met with the sight of his mother reading.

“Found the book, then?” Harry asks, opening the fridge and peering inside. He grimaces, unsatisfied with the contents, and closes the door.

Anne hums, ignoring him, too absorbed in the book to acknowledge his existence.

“Okay then,” Harry laughs, moving on to the cupboard to grab a cereal box. He has time to pour both cereal and milk before his mother emerges from the story.

“I did, it was in a CDs box,” she replies with a laugh. “I think Robin got sloppy towards the end of packing.

“Well, who could blame him,” Harry says, mouth full. “Packing sucks.”

Anne frowns at his behaviour and he swallows before speaking again.

“Sorry mum,” he shrugs.

She shakes her head. “I’m going into town this afternoon to get some groceries, I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I don’t think you’ve had the chance to really see anything yesterday? Maybe you could walk back home, explore the place?”

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised, but he quickly finds himself nodding. “Definitely. I wanted to go out anyway so that’d be great.”

“Perfect.”

*

A few hours later, Harry is starting to regret accepting her invitation. They’d done the grocery shopping, happily picking healthy stuff together that they both knew Robin would hate and chatting about one thing or the other, until they’d started to leave and his mother had caught sight of Sharon or Shannon or whatever that woman’s name is.

That was twenty-five minutes ago.

Now, they’re giggling and chatting in the shop’s entrance, not caring that they’re essentially blocking the door and Harry can feel the bags’ handle digging into his palms. He’s carrying most of them, of course, had agreed to help her get everything into the car before leaving her to explore the village a bit on his own. Now he’s not quite sure what to do. Leaving her like this without saying goodbye seems rude, but he can feel his afternoon slowly slipping away. Soon, it will get dark and all the beautiful sunny photographs of the village he was planning on taking for Gemma will vanish. At the same time, interrupting their enthusiastic conversation to complain doesn’t seem like an appealing option either. Not for the first time since he’s moved back home, Harry starts feeling like a moody teenager, a past and annoying version of himself that he can’t quite keep at bay.

He sighs, a tiny thing that he can’t quite keep in anymore, and for a second, he’s scared he’s going to get scolded for being impolite, but the two women happily continue to talk, blissfully unaware of his presence.

Harry glances slightly to the left and notices the bulletin board near the door, filled with colourful signs and ads. He looks back at his mum for a second before dropping the grocery bags next to her legs and taking the few necessary steps to get a closer look at the board. There might be something interesting for him there, a class he could take or a part-time job opportunity. Anything to help fill those long days ahead....

The first sign that catches his attention is the picture of a cat and Harry’s heart twists painfully at the childish handwriting at the bottom that begs for any news of Mr. Sniffles, who apparently ran away four days ago when her father got a package in the mail and he managed to slip outside without anyone noticing him. The cat is fully grey, with bright blue eyes and the fluffiest fur, and, for a second there, Harry considers making it his mission to find the creature but he quickly dismisses the idea. He’s bored and uncertain, but he’s not that desperate yet. Still, he fumbles for his phone in his back pocket for a second and takes a picture of the sign, just in case he ends up seeing the beast on his walk back home.

There’s a couple of babysitting ads, and a lot of furniture to sell, but neither is quite what Harry is looking for. He already has his photography project of course, and he’s eager to start researching and visiting the Manor, but there are too many hours in a day and too many days in a week for him not to find more things to do. Not to mention he’d like to meet new people in this small village. Surely he’s not the only twenty-something not at university this fall in the whole town. That’s just a ridiculous thought. There might even be one or two he’ll get on with. He just needs to find them and if his mother can make friends so easily, surely he can make it too.

He keeps looking at the board, sighing at a couple of pottery classes signs, until he sees a knitting one that actually seems interesting and he snaps a photo to make sure he doesn’t forget it. He’s about to turn away from the board when he notices a big purple sign near the bottom. His eyes widen when he first notices and he frowns, reading the big lettered title with a confused grimace.

_HAVE YOU SEEN SOMETHING?_

Harry snorts and crouches to the floor, getting a bit closer to the sign. There’s a small drawing of a ghost in the right corner of the paper, of all things, and he can’t help but read the rest with an amused smile.

_Do you think that there is something beyond life? Have you ever experienced something you couldn’t explain? Do you want to know more?_

Well, definitely not the anti-terrorism ad he first assumed it was when he read the ominous title…

_At the Yorkshire Paranormal & Ghost Hunting Society we feel the same! Join us like-minded people for evenings of discussions and investigating everything that is not of this world. _

Harry snorts again, unable to contain himself. There’s a list of paranormal phenomenons the society apparently specialises into, as well as the address and dates of their various meetings. The flyer also alludes to excursions to nearby famous haunted places.

Well, that’s definitely one way he could distract himself….

Harry shakes his head and takes one look at the pamphlets pinned near the flyer. There seems to be at least a dozen of them, which probably indicates that this isn’t the most popular social club in town. He’s almost tempted to take one for a laugh, just to send to Gemma, but he can hear his mother finally saying goodbye to Shelby.

“Done?” he asks after getting back up and walking towards the two women.

“Yes dear,” Anne says with a knowing tone, handing him one of the bags. “You’ve been very patient.”

Harry feels himself blush a little as her and Sue share a knowing look. He’s back in teenland again, god how did he even get there? Still, they walk side-by-side back to the car and he helps her put everything in the trunk, trying to pretend like he hasn’t been moody and irritated. He grabs his camera from the back of the car, fiddling with the strap for a bit.

“So, are you exploring a little? Gonna walk around?” his mum asks, playing with the car keys and looking down at Harry’s camera.

“Yeah, I really want to walk around the main streets, look at the shops maybe… Just get a sense of the place, you know?”

“Okay, well if you need me to come pick you up later I can, no worries.”

Harry smiles before rolling his eyes slightly. “It’s fine, we’re not that far from the house. I’ll walk back, it’ll be good for me.”

“I just don’t want you to get lost, honey.”

“It’s fine,” Harry replies, waving his phone. “Got GPS if anything happens. Besides, I have to start somewhere if I want to get to know this village eventually, right?”

She nods before opening the car’s door. She disappears inside for a few seconds, and for a moment Harry wonders if she’s just going to leave without saying goodbye, but then she reappears.

She smiles sweetly. “Here,” she says, throwing something at his face and he frowns as he grabs it.

It’s a wool beanie, forest green and a bit too hot for early fall like this.

“In case you come back late, and it gets colder,” Anne says with a soft voice. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick on your first few days here, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need it, mum.”

“Humour me, sweetie.”

Harry shrugs and puts it into his jacket pocket, convinced he won’t be using it. Still, part of the perks of being back home is to be back into the well-meaning clutches of his mother who can’t help having an opinion on every single thing he does. He values her input most of the times, especially when it comes to life altering decisions. Still, he’s pretty sure he’s gone past the being told what to wear stages.

This is clearly going to be an adjustment for all of them.

*

“So you ended up wearing the hat?” is the first thing his mother says when he comes back home hours later. She’s sitting in the living room, reading and sipping white wine, a teasing, knowing smile on her lips.

Harry grabs said hat from his head and puts it back into his pocket, trying to pretend like he never wore it. Truth be told, it did get cold for a bit at the end. But only a little, and only for the last five minutes of his walk back home… He doesn’t think he deserves to be teased for it.

“I only put it on once the sun set,” Harry replies half-heartedly. “Sorry I didn’t come back for dinner, I started taking pictures of the shops and got distracted.”

“It’s alright,” she shrugs in reply. “There’s a plate for you in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll probably bring it upstairs. I really want to edit some of those pics straight away. I want to send a few to Gems.”

“Did you meet anyone nice while you walked?”

Harry hesitates for a second. He only saw one kid his age when he visited what he assumes is the only park in the village; a cool leather-jacket wearing bloke sitting cross-legged on the grass reading poetry, a cigarette casually dangling from his lips. Suffice to say he didn’t exactly run to introduce himself.

“Not really,” Harry replies as he unlaces his converses. His ex always affectionately made fun of him for wrapping the shoelaces twice around his ankle and undoing it now sends a wave of sadness through him.

They broke up for a reason, he tells himself as he finally takes the shoes off. It was more of a habit than a relationship at the end, even Harry can acknowledge that, but rejection is unpleasant. And he’s had his overdose of that in the past couple of weeks.

“Well, I was speaking with-”

“Mum!” Harry says interrupting her because he knows what she’s going to say. She was talking to one of those book club ladies, or someone else on the streets who has a nice son or daughter who’d love to hang out with him and introduces him to the wonders of Hillsbridge…

He’s not five years old anymore and in need of a bit of hand holding to make friends on the playground.

(Alright, Harry is man enough to admit he might still need a bit of hand holding now and then, but he’d like to think he has a good enough personality to make friends on his own.)

“I just got here yesterday, I know you mean well but I don’t think I’m desperate enough for you to start setting me up on friend dates quite yet.”

“Are you sure?” Anne asks. “There’s nothing shameful about it. You’re new here.”

“I can’t think of anything that I would want less than you trying to find me a friend… I know I’ve been a bit down but that would be too low even for me,” Harry replies, hoping she’s going to drop it.

Anne simply laughs. “Oh really?” she asks with a giggle. “You can’t think of anything worse than your mother helping out?”

Harry scoffs, walking past the living room and into the kitchen. “You know what I mean.”

“Fine, I’ll leave you alone.”

*

“She wants to find me a friend,” Harry whines on Skype later that evening. He’s not really paying attention to the conversation, busy adjusting some of the photos he took that afternoon on Photoshop.

“A boyfriend?” Gemma asks and Harry sees her grimacing face when he looks up from the picture of the only garage in the village he’s trying to brighten.

“No!” he replies quickly, scrunching his nose. “Well…” he shrugs before passing a hand through his hair, “I don’t think so.”

“Uh.”

“What?”

Gemma shrugs. “Nothing,” she replies brightly but of course it’s something. With Gemma, it’s always something.

Harry scoffs, ignoring the Skype window in favour of his photoshopping endeavour. He can’t quite fix what he wants, and he’s starting to become mildly irritated.

“It’s just… if it had been a boyfriend search than that would have just been normal mum stuff.”

“As opposed to?”

“My son is too pathetic to make friends on his own stuff,” Gemma teases and he knows she’s not mean-spirited, but still. It hurts. He’s been here two days. Surely he deserves some compassion.

“Two days,” Harry whines, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, less than that. Less than forty-eight hours! And I’ve spent most of it locked in the attic, unpacking. Gimme a break.”

“Ohhhh,” Gemma coos sarcastically. She’s about to open her mouth to tease him further, he’s sure of it, so he simply glares to shut her up.

It works for about five seconds until she starts babbling again.

“So, I’ve looked into the manor,” she declares mysteriously, eyes sparkling.

“You did?”

She laughs. “Well, yeah. I figured if you’re dragging me down with you if it goes wrong I better be well-informed.”

“What did you find out?” Harry asks, and he can’t help feeling a twinge of excitement.

“Not much,” she admits, reaching on her left to grab a notebook. “The Manor belonged to the Tomlinson family from its construction in the late 18th century, but the land, the whole Estate, the village, everything really belonged to them much earlier than that.”

“Is it still theirs?” Harry asks, trying to remember if he’s ever heard anything about any Tomlinsons in school. It doesn’t ring a bell, but then again aristocratic British families are so easy to confuse with one another in his opinion.

“No, they sold in the late twenties. Couldn’t keep up after the war. A lot of Stately Homes were sold or abandoned, you know.”

“Yeah, I remember secondary school history too.”

“Anyway, it got a couple of different owners all through the sixties who actually lived in the house. Then, in 1971 it got bought by some private collector who is never on property. Apparently, there’s been a couple of attempts to buy it back to renovate it and turn it into a museum but Mr. Anonymous never wanted to sell.”

Harry hums. “Never on property, uh?”

Gemma laughs brightly. “Yeah, that part really interested me too. I think your project is as safe as can be, maybe just don’t brag about it.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I’m just sayin’!”

She’s not wrong exactly. Which is why Harry sneaks out the next morning before anyone else wakes up, taping a vague note to the fridge after looking five minutes for a magnet.

*

It stands tall on top of the hill, imposing and still carrying an air of grandiose days past despite the fact that it’s most likely been decades since it was habitable. Over forty years actually, if the information Gemma found is accurate. The Internet probably didn’t lie, Harry figures as he glances to the faded stones and the broken windows.There are rows of them, and broken glass aside, they stand proud as the first view of Hillsbridge Manor. There is no door or entrance facing the main road, just the intimidating wall of windows and high archways, almost like the first owner wanted to make his visitors uncomfortable straight away, a voyeuristic illusion of being allowed to peer in while it couldn’t be clearer that people are not welcomed in. It’s a strange architectural choice, Harry thinks as he walks up the hill and he wonders for a second how many Stately Homes in the UK hid their front door from the outside world.

Still, it makes the whole place even more unattainable, guarded, and Harry can’t help the small shiver that runs through him as he takes the final step up the hill, staying a few feet away from the Manor. He lets his gaze roam; chin up as he tries to catch a glimpse of the roof. He thinks he can see a few broken tiles but it’s hard to know for sure with the glaring sun. He fumbles through his bag for a second, past his lunch and his mother’s beanie, to grab his camera. He takes a few pictures, crouching down to get a good angle and to photograph the whole building.

He stops after a few minutes, determined to explore as much of the place as he can before starting to think of how he wants to approach this. It might be a tad pretentious, but Harry likes having an angle to work, a theme to explore…. Something more than just _here’s this building I visited. It was old._ Although, that’s not a wrong statement either.

He keeps going forwards until he reaches the building, pressing a hand against the stone and getting a glimpse of what looks like a library through the cracked glass. He squints, hoping to see if there are any interesting books left in the room, and it isn’t until he feels his nose press against the glass that he realises how close he’s been getting. He sneezes and takes a step back, shaking his head and rubbing at the dust that’s settled on his face.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Harry mumbles before shaking his head again. He hasn’t even explored outside the property yet. He hasn’t even found a door. With this goal in mind, Harry keeps walking until he reaches the edge of the building, turning right.

“Ah-ah,” he exclaims happily when he’s met with what can only be the main entrance.

He still thinks it’s a strange way to build a house, but who is he to complain, really? Especially when the two main doors are so gorgeous. They’re made of wood and have clearly seen better days but they are intricately carved with leaves patterns. They almost look enchanting, like the pathway to another realm. Harry takes a moment to look over the stairs leading up to them. They’re not as well maintained, the cement fragmented, in pieces. There’s a statue of a lion on one side, sitting proud and guarding the door while the other side is empty, an abandoned lion head a few feet over resting on the grass, the rest of the body seemingly nowhere to be found. It must have been very pretty, back in the days. It’s intimidating enough right now, but he can imagine for a second what the house must have looked like, back when it was in pristine condition, brand new and exciting, a place where the high-born could gather and gossip and live in luxury. And now it’s fallen apart, forgotten by the whole entire world except the small village that lives down the hill and has to gaze upon it every day.

Harry snaps a picture of the beheaded lion; it's sad fall seemingly mirroring the house’s, and the family who owned it, own decline. Gemma is going to love this.

He turns around, satisfied to have found the main entrance and curious now to find the others that potentially exist, when he notices the pathway starting from the stairs and leading God knows where, disappearing into the trees. There’s even a main gate he can see into the distance.

“Oh,” Harry hums, turning around for a second to glance back at the path he walked up, the one he assumed was the main. “Well, that explains the wall of windows then,” he whispers, curious about where the _actual_ main road leads but not enough to keep walking it.

Instead, he keeps going forwards, past the main entrance and onwards until he reaches the other side. There isn’t much there, a few trees surrounding the place and large windows again and again, so he jogs quickly, hoping behind the house will offer something more interesting. Or at least more information.

When he gets there, Harry isn’t disappointed. There’s a garage, for starters, and what looks like an old car inside, if the slightly opened door is to be trusted. But that’s for another day, he figures as he turns around and finds what seems to be the back door.

“Much more interesting,” he mumbles, before thinking he should probably stop talking to himself that much.

Still, he walks in after a short, yet embarrassing, struggle with the door. He gives it a good shove and gasps when it opens suddenly, pushing him inside, in the dark, on top of what appears to be stairs. He almost falls off but manages to grab the old railing at the last moment, wincing when it creaks alarmingly. He lets the railing go quickly, putting the hand on his heart instead, amused to see how fast his pulse quickened. Well, he supposes near death experiences do that. He puts his camera strap around his neck and grabs his phone from his back pocket, opening the flashlight and peering down the stairs. They seem to lead to a corridor in the basement and, while he might not find the most exciting room in the whole “castle”, Harry figures the underbelly probably has more interesting information.

So he walks forwards and down the stairs, holding his phone out to try to see where he’s going, the other pressing against the wall instead of the railing. It’s a bit damp from years of neglect but at least there’s no chance the wall is going to fall off and take him with it. Well, at least Harry doesn’t think so.

Once he gets to the bottom, Harry squints through the darkness. He's in a corridor and there are a few closed doors on his left and right, a labyrinth of mysteries waiting for him to uncover them. There's another staircase at the end of the corridor that probably leads to a different area of this amazingly huge house and Harry can’t wait until he’s seen it all, until he’s visited the whole damned thing from top to bottom.

He takes a few steps forwards and opens the first door on his right. He has to starts somewhere and while he was expecting a storage room or something of the sort, he's surprised to realise he's stumbled upon what looks like a dining room. Certainly not the Tomlinsons’ dining room, he thinks a hint mischievously as he walks in. There are two long tables in the middle of the room, one of them flipped over and broken in half. There are a few chairs thrown around, as well, but no other furniture that he can see. He takes a few more steps inside, turns on himself to look at the full room, when he spots something strange at the opposite side.

He snorts when he finally approaches close enough to understand what he's looking at. There's a series of little bells on the wall, rows and rows of them, with half erased labels in a delicate script. He can make out a few room names, the bell for the drawing room still legible next to the library and what he thinks is meant to say Master Bedroom.

"Talk about a blast from the past," Harry says, making one of the bells ring with his finger, taking in what he now knows to be the servants’ quarters. Their dining room, probably, if the tables are to be trusted. There's a part of him that almost can't believe this was all maintained for so long when the Manor was first sold. It seems strange to him that no one thought to turn this place into a museum of some sorts and yet still didn't touch any of the vestiges of the aristocrats who lived here a century ago. Bells on the walls to summon servants seem wrong in the 1950s or 1960s when the owners still lived in the house, according to Gemma's research.

There's not much else of interest in the room, but Harry still tries the light switch on his way out, happily surprised to see it bathe the room in a warm glow. The light flickers a little but the lamps seem to all be working all right, which is going to make things much simpler if he ends up wanting to shoot stuff down here. Of course, he'll have to bring in some equipment to make sure the light is actually good, rather than flimsy at best, but this is a good start. There might be someone taking care of this place after all, Harry figures, as he puts his phone back into his black jeans. He closes the light and the door, eager to explore the rest of the basement.

The next room looks like an office, and isn't quite as grandiose as he hoped, but the mismatched appliances offer a charming insight into the place's past. There's an antique phone, that was probably already old when his grandmother was a young girl, right next to a lamp, painted neon yellow, that looks like it's coming straight from a 1970 catalogue. It's lovelier and weirder than Harry expected and he feels a twinge of true excitement for the first time since he set foot into Hillsbridge. This project might be really good if he plays his cards right. He takes a couple of photos of the phone and the lamp next to each other, playing with the placement for a few minutes just to see how it might turn out. He'll have to come back to shoot properly, but for now it's nice to know there are a lot of possibilities for him here. He opens the desk's drawers, rummaging through pretty quickly just to see if there's something else he could add to the mix but beyond old receipts and old documents, there's not much there. He does find a pack of Haribo gummies that are most likely decades old and he's tempted to try one for a second - the bag is still sealed after all - but he snaps out of it quickly. He's an adult and he can buy his own damn candies if he wants, or needs to.

Harry leaves the office, and the candies, behind. Walking past a cupboard and what seems like old storage, he finally finds the kitchen.  Even in its decrepit state, Harry can't help a gasp of amazement at the sheer size of it. It's huge, keeps going on and on, with a big preparation table in the middle and old pots and pans still hanging from hooks on the wall. It's any cooks dreams and Harry wonders for a second if the oven still works. It would be worth cleaning up the place just to get a chance to bake in such a space once in his life, if he's completely honest with himself. He hasn't had the chance to properly cook something for so long, hasn't given himself the opportunity, stuck in the demands of his courses. He supposes, now that he's back home, he might as well start again. But truth be told it's not the space, or the preparation table he envies the most. It's the fridge.

It's not big or anything, quite on the smaller size actually, and it looks really old, like most things in the house, but it’s actually pink. A soft baby pink almost identical to Harry’s phone cover and it's like someone knew he would be coming eventually, forty years before the fact. He almost wants to bring it back home what with how quirky and pretty it is. He takes about twenty pictures in less than twenty seconds. In that time, he's already started preparing a list of arguments to convince his mother to let him paint their own fridge that way to add a splash of colour in their, so far, incredibly bland kitchen.

He doesn't expect a positive response, and he supposes that's fair since he's only a temporary occupant of the house, but damn. It looks cool. Cooler than he assumed anything in the manor would be, but Harry can't say he's disappointed in being surprised that way. Whoever the people who owned the manor after the Tomlinsons were, they were clearly a peculiar bunch. Or they had peculiar servants. Either way, Harry bets there are so many stories to be told about this place. He's already scheming and making plans, hoping he can find at least a few of the people who lived here. Maybe he'll be able to incorporate some of theirs stories into his project. It might even interest a gallery, if it's good enough!

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Harry tells himself, taking a few snapchat videos of the kitchen before captioning them "dream kitchen!!!!" and sending them to Gemma and a couple of his uni friends.

He gets a gasping selfie with five heart emojis back from Gemma straight away, and he laughs at her exaggerated expression. He's hit with such a wave of longing that he almost texts her back to ask if she could come visit sooner than she'd planned, but he shakes his head at himself as soon as the thought enters his brain. It's ridiculous. She's coming in a few weeks anyway, and he'll have a lot more done by then. It'll be more thrilling to show her his progress on what he has a hard time considering as anything else but _their_ project since it was her idea after all.

He goes for the cupboards next, frowning at the sheer amount of food still hidden in there. It's like the previous owners left so quickly they couldn't be bothered with the clean up. They left more than furniture, and it's strange, to say the least. He supposes they must have had a reason, as does the current owner for never cleaning this up. At least it’s mostly canned stuff, so there's no horrid smell beyond the vague stench of humidity that's common to all basement in Harry's experience. Still, he knows better than to open the pretty fridge, just in case.

He makes one last walk around, snapping a few pictures of the ladles and spoons hanging from the wall, next to the pots. He wonders how many people would have worked here, in the kitchen specifically. How many chefs and sous-chefs and kitchen maids would have been buzzing around to make food fit for royals? He wonders what famous Lord or Lady visited during the long years the house and the Estate were open for that sort of things. So many dinner parties and luncheons must have been prepared in this very room, and for a second, Harry feels the weight of history on his shoulders. He shivers and wraps his empty arm around himself.

He's still in deep thoughts when his phone starts ringing a few seconds later, startling him so much that he almost drops the thing. Gemma's pouting face is staring at him as it rings, and he smiles a little before answering.

"I can't exactly talk to you right now, I'm trying to be inconspicuous," Harry teases instead of saying hello.

Gemma snorts. "If there's someone in that big old ruin right now, they'll probably hear you anyway. Just make sure you can outrun them and you'll be fine. Got some good running shoes on?"

Harry glances down to his battered converses and grimaces. "It'll do," he replies enigmatically.

"Got your puff puff?" Gemma continues, amused.

"I haven't had an asthma attack in years!" He pauses for a second. "Yes, I have it."

"Good, then you can outrun anything, and me calling isn't actually a bother."

She sounds a bit too triumphant, but Harry can't help feeling fond. "You're always a bother."

"Well, I'm your big sister, it's in the job description. Now, tell me how it is! I didn't do all this research just for fun you know, I want dirty details and all the photos."

"You googled for, like, five minutes," Harry argues, walking to the preparation table and jumping on it. He puts his bag to the side and sits crossed legged.

"I googled for an hour, and even paid for information on some official historical estates foundation website thing, by the way."

"That doesn't sound official at all, you shouldn't give your credit card info to some weird websites..."

Gemma huffs. "Eldest sibling, remember. I can take care of myself. Besides, it was an official website, I just can't recall the name right now. Oh, and you owe me 10 pounds."

"I never asked for that," Harry frowns, reaching inside his bag and grabbing a banana. He hasn't had anything since breakfast and the hike up was more demanding than he expected. The village might be called Hillsbridge, but it felt more like a mountain.

"But you got it anyway, thanks to me and my very generous bank account."

"I don't have a job right now."

"Yes, I know! Complaining about it is all you doooooo. I suppose it's fine, for now," she says reluctantly before adding, "but please tell me about the place! Is it creepy?" in an excited tone.

"There's a pink fridge," Harry sighs happily, turning his head to look at it again. It's so pretty he wants to die. "I'm in love with it."

"Yes, it looks absolutely gorgeous, but I was hoping for a bit more gore."

Harry winces, looking around the room. "Well, I've only been to the servants' quarters so far and everything seems normal if a bit mismatched. It's like stepping inside a boring Doctor Who episode or something. All the decades of the first half of the twentieth century are represented."

"A boring Doctor Who episode?" Gemma asks and she doesn't sound convinced by his explanation.

"Or a particularly well-furnished antique shop, I guess. But that doesn't sound as exciting."

"So no murder weapons? No hidden bodies? No creepy ingredients in the kitchen?" Gemma names them all with growing enthusiasm.

"Nothing abnormal I'm afraid, except some old rusty knives, but what else would you find in an abandoned kitchen?" Harry asks with a mouthful of banana. He swallows and takes two quick bites to finish the fruit. He licks his lower lip while looking for something that looks like a trash can and almost misses Gemma's half-mumbled comment.

"Maybe I should investigate some more," she's saying absently. "See if anything... remarkable happened in this good old manor."

"Gemma-"

"Do you think some of the older villagers would know?"

"Maybe, but that's not what I'm here for! I want to take pictures, maybe collect some stories. I'm not looking for a murder mansion. I'm not even sure I want to take photos that look creepy."

"What? But... I thought that was the point. You were gonna send me pictures of beautiful stuff rotting, so I could admire the poetry of decaying beauty."

"And you might still get that, I haven't decided yet. But I never said anything about murder weapons Gems."

She laughs. "Alright, I might have gotten carried away. But imagine if it was true though?"

"Listen, I'll tell you more about what I'm planning once I get a full look at the place. That might take a few days; it's a lot bigger than I thought. I haven't even gotten through all the rooms in the basement and I think there's three or four floors. Not to mention getting here takes forever."

"Forever? Really?"

Harry sighs, putting his peel back in his bag. "Well, over an hour at least. More like ninety minutes! That's three hours total if we count walking back home. It's not like I can borrow mum's car for the full day, every day."

"Poor little darling..."

"I'm not complaining," Harry says, embarrassingly aware of how much of a whine it actually sounds like. "I'm just saying, going through this place is going to take a while. I'm excited about it, but I don't want to rush the project. I want to properly visit before I figure out my angle. That makes sense, right?"

Gemma hums. "Of course it makes sense. Besides, you know I'm not trying to run interference, not really. I'm just offering gloomy suggestions."

"And I appreciate them all, but I'll appreciate them a bit more once I know what I'm doing," he replies.

"Fair enough," Gemma says softly. "I guess I'll let you go, since you're so busy," she adds with a hint of teasing in her tone.

"I'll send you more snaps if I find anything exciting, alright?"

"Good enough. Have fun baby brother."

"Don't call me that!" Harry replies automatically, years of gentle harassment and teasing making him unable not to respond to her, but she's already hung up. "Brat," he mumbles before closing his phone and jumping off the table.

He pats his bum a few times, trying to get rid of most of the dust that's now stuck to his jeans but quickly gives up. Hopefully, his mother won't ask too many questions, but he's starting to regret wearing black trousers. He grabs his bag, glances back at his dream fridge longingly one last time, before exiting the kitchen.

He opens a few more doors but doesn't find anything particularly ground-breaking, so he goes straight for the stairs at the end of the corridor instead of lurking in the basement any longer. He takes the steps two at once and quickly finds himself on the ground floor. There's a door separating the stairs from the rest of the house, an empty hole in it where a window probably used to be. Harry bites his lower lips and looks through for a few seconds, already impressed by the stark contrast between the basement and the rest of the house. This was probably the division between the actual manor that guests could see and the ones the servants navigated. He's tempted to walk through, but he suspects there might be more of the servants’ quarters somewhere and he needs to be methodical if he wants this to make sense. Even if it's only for his own peace of mind. So he keeps walking up to the first floor and finds a similar dividing door, this time with the window intact. It leads to more of the official house and he shakes his head. It's only when he reaches the second floor that he finds a bland looking corridor and he knows he's in the right place.

It takes three rooms to figure out that the servants' sleeping quarters all look the same. Each room has two narrow beds separated by a small nightstand and a wardrobe in the corner. They couldn't be tinier, or more boring, if they tried. He's taking a picture of a broken bed in the fifth room when he first hears it.

It's a laugh, a giggle really; high-pitched and over so quickly that, for a second, he thinks he must have imagined it.

Until he hears it again.

It's coming from the corridor, and Harry feels his heart jump in his throat at the thought of getting caught. He gulps, walking to the door and hesitating for a few seconds. The laughter comes again, louder, closer, and for a frightening second, he swears he can hear it right in the room, as if the person laughing was standing right next to him, exhaling their happiness against his face.

Harry shivers and opens the door, hoping to catch the person but the corridor is completely empty, no footsteps heard or hints of a quick escape, like no one else was there in the first place.

He inhales deeply, letting his head rest against the wall, feeling forced to admit he might be more tired than he thought.

He walks back to the stairs, figuring he might be done for the day. He grabs his phone, eyes widening when he notices its already gone past two. He hasn't seen the morning - and the afternoon - go. Like clockwork, his stomach starts grumbling in protest. He gulps, eyeing the corridor, before choosing to make his way back downstairs until he reaches the basement. He walks back to the stairs leading outside and gets out as quickly as possible.

He'd hate to admit that he feels a bit shaken, but he can't help but feel like whatever just happened was weird. Still, he's too hungry to walk back home on an empty stomach, so he picks a nice looking tree behind the house and sits in its shade to eat his salad. He puts his sunglasses on and looks at the manor, wondering what the hell he just stumbled upon.

* 

By the time Harry gets back to the village, it's gone past four o'clock and he's more tired than he expected. His feet hurt a little and while the walk down the hill wasn't as tiring as the way up, when he was half asleep this morning, he still feels like he's had a full long day. He's thinking about finding a way to make this project easier on himself when he walks past the grocery store and he realises there's an easy solution to his problem. He turns around quickly, running right back to the store and pushing in, eyes fixed on the bulletin board. Once he gets to it, he starts looking for an ad he vaguely remembers seeing. He's concentrating so hard that he doesn't even hear the old woman coming up to talk to him until she taps him on the shoulder. He jumps a little before laughing at her amused expression.

"Hi sweetie," the woman says, "can I help you?" She points to the board like it's some sort of maze he needs help going through.

"Oh, hum... I don't think so, but thank you," he replies politely.

"You're Anne's boy, right? Harry?"

"Yes, that's me."

"It's nice having new families in town, especially youngsters. I can introduce you to my grandkids if you-"

"Oh you're awfully kind, but that's definitely not necessary. I'm just looking for an ad I saw a few days ago, for a bike?" he interrupts before she gets any ideas. He wonders for a second if his mother hasn't been talking about him behind his back, trying to plan him a group of friends despite his protests.

"Jimmy's bike!" the old lady exclaims happily. "Oh he's going to be so excited someone is interested, he's been trying to sell that thing for almost five months," she adds, grabbing a sign from the upper left corner of the board and pressing it into Harry's chest.

"Great," Harry replies, grabbing the ad and looking at the picture. It looks old but the price is reasonable and there's a basket at the front, which gives it a bit of a vintage vibe. Harry supposes he'll fit right into the vibe at Old Hillsbridge Manor.

"Anything else you need? I made some muffins this morning and there's a couple left, I can give you the newcomers' discount," she offers kindly and Harry figures she must be the owner.

"Is this a bakery too?" Harry asks teasingly.

"No, no. But I love cooking."

"I should get home, but thanks for the help."

She waves him off and gets back inside the shop, taking a seat at the register and starting an enthusiastic conversation with a young mother and her child.

Harry is about to leave when he notices the purple sign from the other day, the paranormal activity one, and he's not sure what pushes him to grab one of the pamphlets next to it, but suddenly he has one in hands. It's not quite gore like she wanted, but Harry figures it might make Gemma laugh, at least. He might be able to do a dramatic reading for her over Skype later on.

*

The next day, Harry happily bikes to the manor. The bike isn’t actually in great shape, but it cuts his commute time by half, and Robin bought it for him as a welcome home present once Harry mentioned going to Jimmy’s place to pick it up. It works and he can put his lunch in the basket; Harry couldn’t ask for more. 

Once he gets to the manor, he uses the servants’ entrance again. He’s not sure why, but as he walks past the main entrance, he can’t quite shake the feeling that walking in that way would be a bit too disrespectful. It would be like trying to pretend he owns the place or like trespassing for real. Of course, he’s trespassing anyway, but it’s different somehow. Walking in from someone’s front door feels a bit too awkward. He can’t explain it.

So, he makes his way around the manor as he did the day before, walking next to his bike until he reaches the servants’ door. He puts his bike against the building and takes a confident step into the dark. Now that he knows where he’s going, he’s not quite as scared of falling or hurting himself. 

“Ow,” Harry cries out when he misses a step and bangs his wrist a little against the railing. 

He might be a tad overconfident, Harry thinks self-deprecatingly, putting both of his hands on the walls as he makes his way down.

He wants to see the actual house today, not just the gears that made the place work, so he ignores everything he saw yesterday and gets straight to the stairs leading to the ground floor. He happily pushes the door separating the servants’ space from the main house open, grinning as he glances up to the ceiling of the corridor.

Harry is sure there could be a more methodical way of doing this, that he should find the foyer or the main hall, but he starts opening doors excitingly, running through the corridor in the hope of finding the beautiful library he only glimpsed through the windows. He stops in his tracks when he notices a dining room with a long oval table and a beautiful chandelier dangling from the high ceiling. 

“Sick,” Harry says as he walks in. 

The chandelier is old, clearly, but it looks incredible. Magical, almost, and it must still be worth something despite the need for restoration. Harry can’t believe anyone would leave those things here, gathering dust, when they have so much potential. 

He can’t believe that no one would care about them at all. Not when the place is still worth a fortune! Gemma sent him the estimates that she found the night before in her quest for the deed of sale, and Harry almost had a heart attack. Although he supposes Mr. Anonymous must have his reasons for keeping this place without really caring for it… Still, Harry truly doesn’t understand. How could anyone let such a place be forgotten?

Harry sighs longingly, taking his rucksack off and putting in on the floor. He told himself a billion times that he wouldn’t take any pictures until his project was more concrete, but he can’t help himself at the sight of the chandelier. A couple more photos won’t hurt after all, and it’s not like he’s in a hurry to explore the rest of the house. If there’s one thing he has on his hands, it’s time.

Next, he takes his jacket off, hanging it on a chair carefully, trying to avoid the dust. Then, he reaches inside his bag for his camera, kneeling to snap a few pictures of the chandelier and the table. He deletes a couple of unsatisfactory ones before starting again from a few different angles. He gets an idea in the middle of a picture so he gets up to rearrange his denim jacket in a more pleasing manner, letting it fall more casually, like it was thrown carelessly on the chair, rather than carefully placed. He takes a few step backs and observes the entire room; the hint of modernity and of himself thrown in with the rest. He snaps a couple more photos and smiles down at his camera as he reviews them. It looks out of place is the thing, just like himself, and he’s surprised at how satisfying of a feeling it is to see it all laid out like that.

He takes off his sweater and, not wanting to spoil it, and put it on top of his jacket. Then, he climbs on the table slowly, carefully, a bit scared that it’s going to fold under his weight. Surprisingly, it’s sturdier than it looks and it holds his body as he crawls the length of the table to reach its center, his camera strap around his neck and his left hand cradling the lens. Once he reaches the middle, Harry lets himself fall on his back, squirming around until he has a good position underneath the chandelier. His t-shirt rides up on his stomach, exposing his skin to the chilly, stale air of the manor. He shivers a little, clumsily reaching down to cover the flesh with one hand, the other still holding his camera. Once he’s happy with the position, he holds the camera up to his face, taking two dozens pictures of the bottom of the chandelier. 

He sighs after five minutes of pretentious picture taking, then he lets his camera rest on his stomach and closes his eyes to rest for a bit. He hasn’t been sleeping very well, still not used to the new house. He wakes up at odds hours of the night with the nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right, only to remember that this is home now. He’s about to drift off right there on the dining room table when he hears the faint sound of a few notes, like someone is softly playing the piano a couple of rooms over.

Harry frowns, eyelids fluttering open, and he sits up quickly, heart jumping in his throat. He’s alone. He has to be. It’s just like yesterday, a fluke or his mind playing tricks. Who else would be wasting their time in a place like this? Who would drag themselves out of bed so early in the morning? Harry is pretty sure he’s the only one dedicated, and a bit stupid, enough to do that. It’s probably nothing but a faulty radio acting up.

Still, doesn’t mean he’s not going to investigate. 

He lets himself slide off the table, settles his camera into his bag, before putting his sweater and his jacket back on. Then, he leaves the dining room, following the sound of music through the corridor.

The melody seems familiar, but Harry can't quite put his finger on it. It's soft, romantic, and he's convinced he's heard it somewhere before. It fits the mood of the place a little too well, truth be told, and Harry wonders if he's not just making it up as he carefully makes his way forward, catching glimpses of rooms after rooms as he searches for the source. It sounds like an old ballad, something longing and a bit painful like it's the house itself that's crying out, lamenting for its old owner, for someone to love it back after years of loneliness.

Harry sighs and shakes his head at himself. Gemma would tell him he has too big of an imagination, if she could hear his thoughts right now. She'd tell him houses don't have feelings, even old and tragically abandoned ones. Thing is, there's a vibe here that Harry can't shake and, even though he knows it's not quite rational, it's like the manor is calling out to him in soft piano notes.

_I've been alone for so long. Please see me._

It's stupid. And yet, it fills his soul with something like nostalgia.

When he finally walks into the drawing room where the music is coming from, Harry has to face its emptiness. There's no one here. There's no radio here. And as he walks in, the music fades and stops. Like it was never here at all. There's a piano in one corner, but no player to go with it. Only some broken keys and a duvet of dust, both confirming no one has played the damned thing in decades. Still, Harry takes a couple of steps closer, playing with a few keys, wincing when the broken sound resonates through the room.

"I'm going mental," Harry chuckles to himself, switching the random notes to a lullaby his grandmother taught him as a child.

He smiles at the memory, spending a second too long on his regret of never pursuing music further than a couple of lessons in primary. Nana had been disappointed, but he hadn't had the time or the discipline - or both - to keep practicing. As an adult, he wishes he had gone a little further so he'd be able to play more than the easiest half of his grandmother’s favourite kids songs. He stops when he reaches a verse he could never remember, biting his lower lip, fingers hovering over the yellowing keys. _How does_ _it go again?_ he can't help but think to himself. He bets his grandmother is rolling in her grave right now, ashamed that her lessons haven't made a lasting impression. He's still trying to remember the end of the song when the music starts again.

He startles and takes a step away from the instrument, heartbeat quickening. It's not the same song from before, the romantic lament he was following through the corridor. No, it's the end of Harry's song that seemingly plays itself for him perfectly, as he stands in the middle of the room trying to decide if his mind is playing tricks on him, or if he should feel really scared right now.

Because this feels like there is something, or someone, answering him, like someone heard the beginning of his song and wanted to finish it with him.

Surely that’s not normal. It just can’t be real. It makes no sense at all. But the song plays, until it reaches the end ,while there is no one to play it. No one, except Harry clumsily trying to make sense of it all. What if there is something seriously medically wrong with him? It’s been two days in a row now, with the auditory hallucinations.

He shakes his head and walks away, heart pounding in his chest as he tries to convince himself he's just imagining things. He nervously fiddles with his hair all the way to the library, wishing it were long enough to put up in a bun, or a ponytail. It used to help him focus in school, when the nerves or the anxiety started to get the best of him before exams.

This whole place isn’t making sense. Everything he’s seen so far makes no sense and still, he can’t walk away. At least not until he’s seen the books; he’s been dying to get his eyes on them ever since he got a glimpse through the windows the day before.

When he finally finds the library, it's even prettier than he first imagined. Well worth an almost breakdown over what might or might not have been a hallucination, if you ask Harry. There are walls of books here, from the ceiling to the floors; an entire room dedicated to learning.

"Wow," Harry mumbles to himself, letting his fingers roam against the covers, eyes sparkling as he reads through the titles.

He couldn’t have left without seeing these; scary and confusing moments in the manor be damned. This room is beautiful, and Harry wants to photograph it straight away. He wants to show it to all of his uni friends, show it to the world really. He can’t imagine what it must have looked like at its prime. When the Tomlinsons still lived here and took care of their things, rather than letting them falling apart like the current owner is. He can't imagine ever owning a library like this and letting it lay forgotten, as the books rot on their shelves. It's sacrilegious at best, and Harry wishes he knew the owner of the place. He’d write him an angry letter about this. It's not right, is the thing. This place is too beautiful to be in the shadows.

As he walks away from the library into the other rooms, it's like Harry has renewed purpose. There might be weird things going in this place that he can't quite explain yet. Maybe he's tired, maybe the mould is causing him to have abnormal visions. Maybe he has a serious brain injury. Whatever the explanation is, it doesn't matter. Hillsbridge Manor is beautiful, and it's been forgotten and cast aside for too long. Harry can't stand it.

He’s going to be making a statement with this project. He’s going to make a statement about the past, or memories, or abandonment… He doesn’t know yet, but he’s not going to let his chance slip away, and he’s definitely going to be back.

People deserve to know about this place.

*

“Good day?” Anne asks mockingly when he walks in later that afternoon. She points to his dusty jeans.

“Yeah, I’m really good. Project is going well,” Harry replies and for the first time in a while, it’s not even a lie. So what if the manor makes no sense? What if his whole life fell apart? He’s keeping him busy, that’s what matters.

“Still won’t tell me what it is?”

Harry winces, taking his jacket off and hanging it in the closet by the door. “No… ?” he replies hesitantly.

“You’re disappearing God knows where at dawn, and you come back looking like this, and you still won’t tell?”

Harry shrugs, taking what used to be his pink sweater off. Between the dust and the mould, it looks a mixture of grey and brown now. To think he tried so hard to keep it clean.

“I’m not doing anything dangerous, if it makes you feel better,” Harry offers. “Do you have anything I could use on this?” he asks, holding the sweater between his thumb and index. “I really don’t want it to stain.”

Anne gets up from her place on the sofa to take the garment in her hands. She wrinkles her nose at the smell. Harry hadn’t noticed anything particularly bad, but he supposes after spending two days in the manor he’s probably just used to it. That, mixed with his sweat, is probably not the best.

“What the hell is that?” his mum asks, pointing at a particularly bad stain.

“Mould, I think? It can be saved, right? I mean, it’s my favourite.”

Anne sighs and rolls his eyes at him. “I’ll deal with it.”

Harry widens his eyes. “No, no, no. That’s fine. I can do it. I just wanted your expertise,” he replies with a cheesy smile, all teeth and no dimples.

“Just get changed and put all of this in the laundry room, I’ll do it for you. Might as well, now that you’re back. But please don’t roll around in mould anymore. And don’t do anything illegal, it’s bad for my blood pressure.”

“I’m no-”

“And don’t lie to me,” she adds, eyes still fixed on his sweater.

Harry closes his mouth, teeth clashing in a thud. “Thanks mum,” he mumbles, giving her a kiss on the cheek before taking his sneakers off and running to his bedroom.

He needs a shower, and then he needs to clarify his ideas. But most of all, he needs to clarify his intent.  

* 

The next morning brings more of the same. His ideas are still pretty vague, something about souvenirs and nostalgia, but it’s thrilling anyway. Harry bikes to the manor, happy to feel the wind through his hair as he watches the now familiar route passing by. The leaves have started taking colours, everywhere various shades of yellows, reds and oranges. His first fall out of school and he’s drifting a bit. For years now it’s been the academic routine. September came back and Harry always knew what he was going to do, what was expected of him. Things are different now, but with all those creative impulses he doesn’t feel quite as aimless as he did a few days ago. 

When he finally gets to the gates, Harry looks at the main entrance with curiosity. It didn’t feel to walk through there at first, but he’s feeling adventurous. He lets his bike rest against the wall a bit further away before walking back to the front door.   

“Disrespect, here I come,” Harry shrugs to himself, before pushing it open.

It creaks loudly and, for a beat, Harry stays in place, unable to move, peering inside the foyer without knowing if he should actually walk inside. It still feels weird to see the house that way, like the owners would, but he can’t help himself. 

He only has the time to take four steps forward when he’s startled by the sight of a man a little further into the foyer. Harry stops in his track, air leaving his lungs as their eyes meet.

"Can I help you?" the man asks, and he's too formally dressed to be in a decaying building like this.

"What?" Harry says, suddenly even more nervous. It's the first time he's been bothered while visiting the manor and while he’s always known what he was doing was wrong and illegal, he truly didn’t expect to be caught in the act. After the near misses of the past few days and all that Gemma said about the elusive owner, Harry supposes he got mentally comfortable about roaming the place. He didn’t think someone would be here waiting for him. Clearly, he was wrong.

"What are you doing here?" the man insists, taking a decisive step forward. He looks polished, in a three-piece suit that's remarkably immaculate despite the dust and rumbles.

"I was just..." Harry fumbles, taking a step back towards the door.

"Well?" the man insists, his penetrating blue eyes locking with Harry's. “Did you ring the bell?"

Harry shakes his head. Truth be told he had no idea there _was_ a bell, let alone a still functioning one. He had no idea Mr. Anonymous cared about trespassers at all. Everything he’s found out and heard about the place indicated that it’s a forgotten building. The owner, someone who is uninterested in an expensive property that’s falling apart, yet unwilling to sell for some reason. No renovation projects on the way and certainly no intention to get one started. He’d assumed, even knowing his actions were illegal, that there wouldn’t be any repercussions.

"So you just let yourself in?" the man continues with disdain. "That was rather forward of you, to barge in unannounced. One might even call it rude."

Harry gulps. "Sorry," he whispers, reaching behind himself to open the door, hoping he can still make a quick and easy escape.

“What's your business here?" the man insists while Harry still fumbles for the doorknob "Are you here to see my father?"

Harry shakes his head again. "No," he replies, having no idea who this man's father could possibly be.

"You're from the village, aren't you?" he continues, slowly eyeing Harry up and down, frowning like he doesn't like what he sees. When he gets to Harry's skinny jeans he wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Were you hoping to steal something valuable?”

Harry frowns, the words coming out of the man’s mouth nonsensical. He lets his eyes roam beyond the stranger, at the old and the broken look of the place, confused as to what could possibly still be valuable here. Maybe some of the books, he thinks vaguely. Or some of the car parts? Still, there’s nothing that quickly comes to mind, no jewellery left anywhere in the house, no silverware to grab.. Or at least, nothing that he’s found yet.

The man sighs at Harry’s silence, shaking his head seemingly at himself. “Oh, why not,” he mumbles before reaching inside his jacket. “You need money?” he asks, handing Harry a few pounds.

“No!” Harry denies loudly.

“There’s no shame in being down on your luck, but you cannot come in here like this. If you’re looking for a job, you need to speak to the Butler by the servants’ entrance. Now take the money and go,” he declares, taking another step forward and waving the bills in Harry’s face.

Except the moment they get too close, the bills starts fading away, slowly losing colours at first, until there’s nothing left but the vague outline of them and they vanish suddenly. Harry opens his mouth, not sure what he’s supposed to say, when the man vanishes too, slipping away in between two blinks; one second there, the next, disappeared.

Harry’s eyes widen at the now empty foyer.

“What?” he says, taking a few steps forward into the house, desperately looking for a rational explanation. Surely the man can’t have gone too far. He was right there.

He walks into the splendour of the hall, stares at grand staircase twisting its way up, empty…. of course.

“He was right there,” Harry whispers, feeling his heart starting to beat furiously in his chest.

This isn’t possible.

He starts climbing the stairs, two steps at a time, until he reaches the first floor. Like he suspected, both sides of the corridor are empty.

“Hello?” Harry calls hesitantly, hoping the man will miraculously reappear, that this will all be one giant mistake, an illusion made too real by his tiredness. “I’m sorry for just… walking in,” he continues as he starts walking left, pushing bedroom doors open one after the other and peering inside. They’re all empty, furniture falling apart and years of dust settled into every inch of each room.

Harry gulps, trying to keep the panic at bay. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes for a second before turning around and walking to the rooms on the other side.

There’s no need to freak out yet, there’s probably a rational explanation for this. There has to be.

“I’m working on a... photography project,” Harry explains, walking into what he assumes used to be the master bedroom. It’s bigger than the others, with an en suite bathroom and everything. Even through years of neglect, he can tell it used to be beautiful.

“Are you there?” he asks, voice dropping to a whisper. But the place is empty. It’s deserted, as it’s always been. There is no man, angry or otherwise, and Harry gulps, trying to swallow down the now frighteningly plausible thought that there might never have been.

He takes a shaky breath before starting to nod. “Okay,” he says, taking a step back. “Okay, okay.”

He exits the room backwards, turning around only when he finally reaches the stairs. Harry wouldn’t want to admit it, but he gets out of there as fast as he can, running down the stairs and through the foyer until his body slams against the door to the main entrance, pushing it open with the force of the impact. He almost falls to his knees, his rucksack slipping from his shoulder to his elbow.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, catching it just in time before it shatters on the stairs leading up to the entrance and hugging the bag to his chest to continue his escape.

He’s not running anymore, too scared to drop his camera, but he walks down the path and through the main gates quickly, before starting to get down the hill.

No wonder people don’t like to talk about the place, Harry thinks with a shiver. He’s cold, even through his sweater and his jacket, despite it being quite a sunny autumn day. He’s not sure if it’s the place or what he thinks he might have seen, but it’s like the sun’s rays have no warmth anymore, the whole world tainted by his emotional state.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles, turning back to stare at the manor for a second. He hasn’t quite reached the bottom of the hill and there’s still quite a distance to walk before he reaches the edge of the village yet, but he feels safe enough to give the house one shy look.

It looks… so normal, is the thing. Grandiose and over the top, like many Stately Homes were at the time, but it’s just a house with creaky doors and leaky faucets, tapestries falling apart and the reminiscent traces of the aristocrats who lived there. There’s no reason to be frightened, no reason to run, and yet. If what Harry saw was real… there’s more to the place than just decrepit souvenirs.

 _There’s a ghost_ , Harry thinks, staring at Old Hillsbridge Manor with wide eyes, at the way it reigns over the whole region even now, decades after the ruling family who lived there went away.

“Or I really am going crazy,” he mumbles to himself, heart stopping at the thought.

He’s not sure which option is more terrifying, at this point.

*

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to remember the pamphlet he impulsively grabbed from the grocery store.

In Harry’s defense, he’s pretty shaken, still, once he gets back home, too shocked to even answer his mother’s questions. She’s surprised to see him back so early, used to his new schedule of disappearing at the crack of dawn and not getting back until afternoon as started to morph into evening, even though it’s only been three days. Seeing him back home mid morning as her fussing over him, putting a hand against his forehead as he tries to escape to his bedroom.

“Are you feeling ill, honey?” she asks with a soft voice. “I told you to wear the beanie, fall is a tricky season!”

“I’m fine, mum,” Harry says weakly, walking past her and up the stairs without a look back. “Just too tired today,” he mumbles on his way up, heart still beating furiously in his chest.

When he gets into his room, he lets himself fall onto his bed and mumbles: “fuck, fuck, fuck” into his pillow before remembering the purple pamphlet. It’s like an alarm just went off in his head and he gets back up clumsily, running to his desk. He takes the whole drawer out, looking for it for a second before getting annoyed and emptying the whole thing on his bed. He kneels next to the pile of stuff, biting his lower lip, as he scans what is a surprisingly high amount of rubbish that he can’t quite believe he’s accumulated in such a short time.

There’s a knock on his door and he half-heartedly replies, not noticing when his mother comes into the room.

“What are you doing, darling?” Anne asks, uncertain.

“Just looking for something,” Harry says, starting to feel annoyed. He was sure he’d put it in there. He throws a queer poetry recommendation list one of his uni friends sent him a while ago off the bed with a groan.

“What are you looking for exactly? Maybe I can help,” she offers.

“It’s a flyer I found in town,” Harry mutters, discarding another piece of rubbish. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, according to your frantic behaviour, it seems to matter a great deal. Is it a cult flyer? Sharon said there was a group of devil worshippers that meet every Thursday. Apparently they’re not dangerous, but that’s not quite what I meant when I said I wanted you to make friends.”

“Yes!” Harry yells triumphantly when he finally finds the elusive purple pamphlet. “Sorry,” he adds towards his mother, “you were saying?”

Anne chuckles at his antics. “Just don’t do anything stupid, whatever that is,” she replies, pointing at the crumpled paper before leaving.

Harry reads over the pamphlet once, then a second time, then a third just to make sure. There’s all the same information he giggled at before, all that _seeing something paranormal_ nonsense that Harry isn’t quite sure is nonsense anymore. There’s the church address and the meetings dates. The next one is only two days away and it almost feels like destiny, or fate, or something…

He sighs shakily, feeling his heart speed up at the thought of actually showing up to that meeting, at the thought of sharing what just happened to him with a bunch of… enthusiastic believers. He’s not sure he knows what happened, not sure he believes it wasn’t a trick of his own mind. It seemed so real though. There’s no way Harry could make up a man like this, a man so polished, so beautiful. And those piercing and intense eyes? How could he imagine it all?

His hand is shaking where it’s holding the pamphlet and he drops it onto his bed, tightening his fingers into a fist.

“This is stupid,” he whispers angrily, grabbing the pamphlet again, crumpling it and throwing it into the garbage.

He starts cleaning up his bed to try and forget about the whole thing.

An hour later finds him on his laptop, fifteen different pages opened about ghost sightings and brain even more scrambled than before. He gives the trashcan a glance, finger tapping nervously against the keyboard.

 

It would be stupid to go. Especially since he has no idea what really happened.

But then again, going might help him figure out what happened.

*

Harry is a little nervous when he first approaches the local church, fingers twitching against his jeans until he tightens them into a fist and hides them into his jacket.

It seems a bit weird to him that a meeting about the paranormal would take place in a church, even in the basement, and when he finds the front doors locked, Harry has a moment of panic that he’s gone to the wrong place. Everything he’s learned about this “society” made it seemed non-religious so the affiliation is puzzling, unless they need the money and they rent out the space. Still, this is weird. Maybe he should take this as a sign and go home while he still has the chance. After all, it took him ages to even decide on coming and even as he was making his way through the darkening village, he couldn’t help but battle with the strong feeling that going would be a huge mistake. And now that he’s here he can’t even make it through the front door? It’s a sign. It has to be. It’s telling him that he’s making a poor choice here, that he’s blowing the whole event out of proportion.

A ghost? Who is he fooling? It was probably nothing, a hallucination brought by exhaustion or an actual breakdown.

Still. Harry is here. He got dressed and put on his denim jacket. He left the house. He even _walked_ all the way to this old church since he still hasn’t gathered the courage to go back to the manor to get his bike. He made efforts, basically, so it feels a bit silly to abandon so quickly, to give up without even taking a chance.

Harry sighs. “Oh, what am I doing?” he asks himself quietly, a question that’s been haunting him ever since he moved back into his parents’ house, before knocking on one of the two big doors.

He waits a few minutes, shivering a little and scratching the back of his left ankle with his right shoe. There’s absolutely no noise coming from the inside, nothing that would indicate that someone is coming to open up for him.

Harry sighs and unzips his jacket, thankful for the yellow sweater he had the wisdom to put on when he feels the cold breeze against him. He reaches into the inside pocket and takes out the pamphlet he grabbed from the grocery store.

Of course, it reads _Yorkshire Paranormal & Ghost Hunting Society _at the top, which Harry still thinks is terrible name. It’s straight to the point he supposes, but it’s almost intimidating in its length. He scans the paper quickly, absently reading through the description of the “club” that he’s already been through so many times. There’s the church address, and Harry is in the right place, and he has the right date, the right time, and still no one is coming to open up the door.

Harry hums, licking his lower lips as he looks through the page one last time, noticing the small asterisks next to the church name for the first time. He frowns and follows it to the bottom of the page where it’s written in small, tiny, microscopic print _entrance at the left of the church, the side door will be left open_.

He huffs when he’s done reading, shoving the flyer back into his pocket, and quickly jogging around the church. He’s already late with all this nonsense, and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. Being new in town, it feels like everywhere he goes he’s being gawked at, curious eyes following his every move, and this seems like a risky one. Still, he’s here. He’s committed. When he gets to the side, the door is indeed open, if only an inch, and Harry pushes through easily. There’s no sign telling him where to go, but he follows the enthusiastic voice of an elderly woman, hoping it will lead him to the right place.

When he gets to the door, Harry hesitates for a second, giving the room a quick once over. It’s filled, and that’s a big word really when there aren’t even twenty people there, with mostly old men and women sitting at children’s desks, in what looks like an old classroom. They’re all staring at the woman speaking, and Harry recognizes the kind owner of the grocery store, feeling like a light bulb going off in his brain at the sight of Mrs. Wilcox passionately waving her arms and talking about a recent ghost sighting in North Yorkshire. That explains why so many pamphlets of the society were on the billboard in her shop.

For a second, he wonders if he’s making a mistake. The desire to investigate was strong, but standing in that doorway, looking at them, it’s hard for him to figure out how he’s supposed to fit in. Is the curiosity really worth it? Does he even want answers?

Harry has been lost in thoughts so long he doesn’t even notice when Mrs. Wilcox stop speaking to stare at him.

“Can I help you, darling?” she asks and Harry jumps at little, blushing at all the eyes suddenly focusing on him, questions clearly on their minds.

His gaze meets the dark eyes of a guy in the back and Harry hadn’t noticed him before but he’s around his age, young and hip in his leather jacket, sitting on top of a table tucked in the corner with a cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag, and suddenly Harry recognises him as the guy from the park. He looks as unapproachable as ever, eyeing Harry up and down like he’s seizing him, judging not only his presence here, but his whole entire existence. Harry clears his throat and looks away. He’s surprised none of the elders are scolding him for smoking inside, but they all seem to ignore the boy’s presence, preferring to stare at Harry instead. He’s the newbie after all, a stranger to them all.

“Humm…” Harry clears his throat again before giving her his biggest, fakest smile, dimples all out for it. “I was curious, sorry I’m late? I had trouble finding the entrance.”

A few old ladies smile at his antics, but Harry can see the cool guy in the leather jacket roll his eyes.

“Of course, don’t even worry about it,” Mrs. Wilcox says gently, gesturing for him to get in. “Come, come, sit next to Niall,” she adds excitedly, ruffling the hair of the boy sitting in the front row.

Harry had been so busy feeling overwhelmed that he hadn’t noticed him earlier.

“He’s our vice-president,” Mrs. Wilcox continues, putting a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder when he finally starts moving towards the boy. “He can explain what you missed after the meeting,” she says, pushing him a hint too brusquely into a chair.

“Okay,” Harry whispers, eyes widening at the strength displayed. He starts biting at the skin of his index’s knuckle nervously while she continues back where she left off.

He finds himself strangely captivated by the way she’s speaking so enthusiastically about the event, and it takes him a few seconds to notice the vice-president’s insistent starting. Harry tries to let it go but after a few minutes he can’t even concentrate on what the woman is saying about the identity of the ghost observed, his face burning with the sensation of being observed. He’s started to get used to it, being a newcomer and all, but this is getting ridiculous. He rolls his eyes before turning around and shrugging angrily at the other guy.

Vice-President Niall doesn’t seem bothered at all by Harry’s display of annoyance, quite the contrary. He’s grinning at him, blue eyes sparkling behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He raises both of his eyebrows at Harry teasingly. For a second, Harry fears this might be flirting and he’s not ready for that, not after… He’s just not. But soon enough, Niall slides him a piece of paper across the desks that contains the outline of the meeting as well as a little _Welcome! We’re happy to have you!_ scribbled at the bottom. Harry feels a rush of shame at his defensive attitude, and he gives the other boy a weak smile and a nod.

“Now, our lovely Vice-President is going to be talking about our next field trip!” Mrs. Wilcox declares, clapping her hands a little. “Please don’t forget to bring the money for the bus at our next meeting,” she adds before switching place with Niall.

“Hi everybody, for those who don’t know me, I’m Niall Horan, I’m the Vice-President of YPGHS,” Niall begins, giving Harry a pointed look. “So you might remember we’ve been talking about visiting a few cemeteries up North and as you’ve probably guessed, it is indeed happening. We’ve got permission from four out five cemeteries we wanted to hit, so it’s pretty neat. We’re going to be leaving at noon, to make sure that we’re there by dusk and we can really get going, see if anything happens. We all know spirit hours doesn’t start until late at night, so we really want to hit that target and get a good night of observation.”

Niall is about to open his mouth to continue his babbling speech when a loud snort resonates throughout the room. Harry frowns, discreetly trying to look over his shoulder and identify the culprit. All the elderly men and women keep staring ahead though and none of them seem bothered. Niall is another story. He clenches his jaw and gives a small irritated smile.

“Any comments Malik?” he asks, eyes fixed on the young lad Harry spotted earlier.

“Nah,” the guy replies, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Not really, you’ve said it all Niall.”

“Then can I continue?” Niall asks and he looks two seconds away from dragging the guy out of the room.

“Sure,” he chuckles in response. “Spirit hours,” he mumbles, shaking his head like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Clearly not a believer then. But what is he doing there if he doesn’t think ghosts, or the supernatural, are real?

“As Mrs. W just said,” Niall continues loudly, hands tightening against the paper he’s holding and reading off of, “there’s a little fee. It’s ten pounds, for those who forgot, just to cover the bus. Bring in your own equipment; whatever is most helpful to you. We’ll just spend maybe a couple of hours in each cemetery, write down our observations, things like that. We should be back early morning the next day. Any questions? Observations?”

No one answers.

“Alright then, the floor is yours,” Niall says happily, pointing to his audience. “Any stories to share?” He raises his eyebrow questioningly at Harry.

Harry frowns, discreetly trying to look at the rest of the room, see if there is anyone else Vice-President Niall might be looking at. He looks down at his meeting outline, biting his lower lips as he tries to figure out what part of the meeting they’ve reached.

He goes through the list quickly until he reaches point six _personal stories._ Well, that’s definitely not something he’s going to participate in. Niall keeps looking at him though and maybe that’s a ritual for new members, but it’s one Harry definitely doesn’t want to take part in.

Luckily, an older woman gets up slowly to take Niall’s place and to start talking about her cat’s ghost. The poor creature passed away a year ago, and has since been haunting the woman’s house and garden. It’s not the first time she’s talked about this if the unhappy groan coming from behind him is to be trusted. Still, Harry figures he might as well give her a chance. There might be something for him to learn.

Four people’s testimonies later, the meeting finally ends and Harry isn’t sure if this wasn’t a complete and utter waste of time. He hasn’t learned much and none of their stories sounded like anything he’s personally experienced.

He’s preparing himself to leave, a tad disappointed and still as confused as ever, when Niall clears his throat and offers him a friendly smile.

“Pint on me?”

*

“Now,” Niall says after fifteen minutes of irrelevant chatter, putting his beer down on the bar and turning on his stool to face Harry, “are you going to tell me why you _really_ came to the meeting tonight?”

Harry gulps. “I told you,” he replies, not quite sure why he’s insisting on lying, “I was bored. I don’t know anybody in this town, and there isn’t much to do.”

“Bullshit,” Niall calls out, easy as that. He licks the corner of his lips, blue eyes still fixed on Harry’s. He smirks, amused and unnerving, before raising an eyebrow. “There’s a lot of things to do around here.”

“What,” Harry says mockingly, wrinkling his nose, “read _Eat Pray Love_?”

Niall’s laughter is surprising in its intensity. He’s not quite what Harry expected at first sight, more laid back and easy going than the taunt and stern version of him at the meeting seemed to indicate. Maybe it’s simply that he doesn’t have the role of Vice-President of the _Yorkshire Paranormal and Ghost Hunting Society_ to fulfill, or Harry just read him wrong. Whatever it is, he doesn’t really mind being coaxed into honesty by this teasing man, who seems determined for them to be friends.

“S’not a bad book you know,” Niall replies when he’s finally stopped laughing, eyes still sparkling with amusement.

“You’ve read it?”

“Everyone in Hillsbridge has read it. Pretty sure Mrs. Palmer got it added to the town’s civil code. Besides, that’s not the issue here,” he says, shaking his head. He gives Harry a pointed look before speaking again. “There are a million things you could have chosen to get involved in upon your arrival. But you didn’t. You chose us. The weirdos. That says something about you.”

“I guess I’m weird too,” Harry offers with a shrug. It’s not exactly untrue.

Niall rolls his eyes at him, though, before letting out a big sigh. “Didn’t need you to come to the meeting to know that,” he says.

“Fine,” Harry sighs, "I just got interested in the Manor, is all."

Niall’s smile widens. “There we go,” he says, gesturing so Harry will continue.

"I've never....” He clears his throat before speaking again. “I mean, it's not that I don't believe in ghosts particularly, I just never really thought about it, you know? I never really had any strong opinions. But then I went there and..."

He's not quite sure how to explain what he saw, what he felt. But Niall is a believer, and if there ever was a safe space to admit to hallucinating somebody from the previous century, this is probably it.

"It's special, isn't it?” Niall agrees before taking a sip of his drink.  “The vibe there..." He trails off with a shiver, and from anyone else it would look exaggerated, or like a gimmick, but Niall seems sincere and reassuring, like whatever Harry felt there, he’s not the only one.

“It’s _weird,_ ” Harry insists because, whatever it was, he’s not quite ready to call it special yet.

“That’s one way of describing it, I suppose.”

“Have you…” Harry trails off, hesitant to say more. It’s one thing to admit that the place gives him the creeps; it’s another to reveal that he saw something impossible. “Have you ever seen anything there?”

There must be something in his tone because Niall’s smile drops as soon as the sentence is out of his mouth, his eyes widening behind his glasses with a mixture of shock and curiosity.

“Have _you?_ ” he asks pointedly and Harry’s heart skips a beat.

This is the moment of truth. “I think so,” he whispers.  

“Oh my God,” Niall squeals, putting his hand over his heart.

Harry feels self-conscious all of a sudden and he takes his hands off the bar, hiding them inside the sleeves of his sweater on his lap. Niall has been scrutinising him ever since he first entered the meeting a few hours ago, but there’s something different in his gaze now, a hunger and avid curiosity that weren’t present a few minutes ago.

“So,” Harry says, eyes dropping to the bar, “you’ve never seen anything there?”

His question is met with silence, and when he risks looking at Niall again he’s silently shaking his head, seemingly too shocked to reply.

“Never?” Harry insists because surely that can’t be right. Niall is in the Society, has been living here for ages, and has probably been involved in these types of things for as long, surely he’s not done it purely out of faith. Surely he must have had some proof at some point?

Niall shakes his head again. “I…” he says weakly before clearing his throat. “No,” he ends up saying after a few seconds of silence. “I’ve never seen anything. I’ve heard some things? Music and such?”

Harry nods enthusiastically when Niall says it. “Me too,” he reveals excitedly. At least, if he’s having elaborate delusions, he’s not the only one.

“What else?” Niall insists, suddenly greedy. He reaches for Harry’s shoulder, squeezing him a hint too tightly in his excitement. “What else did you hear? What else did you see?”

Harry clears his throat and shrugs. “A man… ?” he says hesitantly.

“What man?”

“I don’t know. He looked my age?” he offers. “He had… blue eyes.”

“What did he do?” Niall asks, eyes still wide and piercing.

“N-nothing,” Harry stammers. “He talked to me, asked me what I was doing there and when he got closer he started… fading away.”

“Oh my god,” Niall says, taking his hand off Harry to put it on his mouth. “Oh my god,” he repeats, the sound muffled. He inhales sharply before taking his hand off. “He could see you?”

Harry nods.

“He talked to you?” Niall insists.

Harry bites his lower lips. “He thought I was breaking into his house. Although technically, I guess I was.”

“Did he look ghostly? Tell me everything,” Niall fumbles for a moment, reaching inside of his pocket to take out his phone. He opens a recording app on it before staring back at Harry. “You don’t mind, do you?” he adds nervously, gesturing with the phone.

“Hum…”

“It’s just, everybody talks about this place, but I’ve never met anyone who has actually seen a ghost there. This would be great information for my podcast. And our research at the Society.”

“Your podcast?” Harry asks hesitantly, nervously fiddling with his hair.

“I wouldn’t put you in it without your permission,” Niall says quickly. “I just really don’t want to forget anything you tell me. I always record people’s stories, kind of a little collection of mine. It’s okay if you don’t want to, though.”

“I’m just… not sure I have anything interesting to say,” Harry admits shyly. “It all happened so fast. I’m still not sure it was real.”

And he’s truly not is the thing. It doesn’t feel like a dream or a hallucination, but rationally, Harry know what he saw is impossible. People don’t just vanish like that, one second there and the next fading away. But there definitely was a man there who talked to him. Whatever that means.

“Right,” Niall shakes his head and closes his phone. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not!” Harry exclaims. Niall may be a bit weird, but he’s friendly and the only person who has taken the time to talk to him in this place. Harry would rather not antagonize him straight away. “He looked normal,” he offers, hoping it’ll be enough to satisfy Niall’s curiosity. He feels bad for letting him down but there really isn’t much more for him to say. He’s still not sure what he even believes happened.

“Not transparent?” Niall asks urgently. “Fully corporeal?” he insists.

Harry nods. “He was standing there like you are now, looked solid enough to touch.”

“Incredible.”

“Truthfully, the way he was talking, I thought he was the owner. The pissed off and weirdly posh owner. He warned me off the property,” Harry explains which makes Niall giggles.

“Territorial ghost,” he teases before taking a gulp of his pint. “I like him already.”

“You know who he is?” Harry asks, heart suddenly beating faster. He spent so long trying to erase the image of the man from his mind, but he couldn’t. He left the manor completely hypnotised by the vision he had, and no matter how hard he tried to forget it, he still hasn’t managed. He had dreams about him, awkward fretful dreams where a beautiful and terrifying man is yelling at him… If he’s going to be stuck with the memory of this event forever, Harry would rather know who it is that’s haunting the place. And his mind.

“Not a clue,” Niall laughs. “But I definitely want to find out. What about you?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry gulps. “What about me?” he asks with a shrug.

“Are you interested in getting involved in some paranormal research?” Niall says, clasping his hands together and giving Harry a teasing look.

It’s a stupid offer, really. If there’s one thing the meeting clarified is how very much _not_ interested in the supernatural Harry is. It’s a silly idea that will probably wield no results, and would only feed this crazy hallucination of his.

He doesn’t mean to say yes. In fact, Harry braces himself to refuse, hoping that Niall will understand and still want to remain good acquaintances with him. Not friends exactly, but friendly.

Which is why he’s so surprised when he finds himself nodding enthusiastically.

“Yeah,” Harry says, a bit breathlessly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

*

Harry tiptoes into the kitchen a couple of hours later, feeling slightly tipsy and overwhelmed. He’s not quite sure how he got there, but he thinks he might have made a friend. A friend he promised to meet up with the next afternoon to start researching a ghost.

An actual, real life, ghost.

Harry sighs, reaching to open the fridge. “What the hell am I doing?” he sighs into it, eyes hungrily looking for something to eat.

He settles for a strawberry yogurt and spends the next couple of minutes roaming the kitchen looking for a teaspoon. They’re still not quite fully moved in yet, boxes still piled up in the corners of most of the rooms, so it’s not exactly surprising he doesn’t find what he’s looking for straight away. He’s pretty sure they did unpack all the cutlery though. He’s either too drunk, or too tired, to find them, so he ends up opening a box labelled _baking_ and reaching for a tiny whisk to use instead.

 _It’s not great but it will do_ , Harry thinks as he opens his yogurt and drops the whisk inside. He stirs the yogurt for a second before starting to lick it.

Thankfully it’s late enough that there are no witnesses, except for the cat, who is giving Harry a calm, judging look. But Harry is not about to let himself be intimidated by a creature that spends half the day sleeping or licking its own arse.

“I’m trying,” he mumbles defensively before licking the whisk again.

It’s been quite the funny evening, not at all what he was expecting. It started off awkward and truthfully that awkwardness never fully faded but Harry feels like he has renewed focus now.

It’s an insane plan, and something he never would have considered before, but now that he’s here and involved it feels good to have any type of structure in his exploration of this new experience.

*

Harry is a bit surprised when he walks to the town’s library the next day. It’s smaller than he expected; a tiny easily forgettable building next to the primary school that looks like nothing really, brown bricks with a bright red door and a small sign next to it that says _Hillsbridge Public Library_ in faded letters. Harry would have walked past it without noticing if Mrs. Wilcox hadn’t described it in details for him, when he went to buy milk for his mother’s tea that very morning. It seems unlikely for one soul to get lost in such a small village, but Harry really didn’t want to leave it up to chance. And when he told her he was planning on meeting with Niall, she had been overjoyed, excited to tell him the easiest route from his house to the library in explicit details.

There are no windows, which seems quite strange, but Harry simply shrugs before pushing his way in. The sight waiting for him isn’t one of grandeur, nothing like the manor’s library that’s for sure, but he supposes it will do. There are more books than he expected, the rows narrow and close together to ensure the usage of a maximum of the limited space. The paint clearly isn’t new, but the blue colours are relaxing and they match the two armchairs in one corner of the room. There’s only one computer available for public use that looks like it was new when his mother was still in school, but Harry supposes at least there is one for people who might not have access to one elsewhere. There’s a couple of tables too, chairs haphazardly thrown together in a seemingly controlled chaos, and he wonders for a second if maybe the librarian puts them like this on purpose to give the room a used feel.

There’s no one there. Not at the computer, or in the armchairs, or roaming the rows of books… Even the librarian’s desk is empty, the wooden stool discarded and a mug of tea forgotten.  

Niall has obviously not arrived yet.

Harry takes a look at his watch and sighs when he notices the time. He’s a few minutes late because he took a wrong turn, despite Mrs. Wilcox’s careful indications,  but not long enough that it would explain Niall _leaving._

 _He’s probably on his way_ , Harry thinks, trying to reassure himself. He really hopes this isn’t an elaborate prank designed to publicly humiliate him. He hasn’t even been in town for a full week yet.

“Oh,” a familiar voice says from behind Harry.

He turns around, surprised to see the guy from the night before starting to take his jacket off and putting it on the wooden coat rack placed next to the librarian desk. Malik… something?

“You’re,” Harry says, pointing at him. “Malik, right?” he asks, hesitantly, vaguely remembering Niall yelling that name during the meeting.

“Zayn,” he chuckles, taking his fingerless gloves off and putting them in his jacket. “Zayn Malik. Can I help you? Are you here for a library card?”

“You work here, right,” he nods towards the desk, watching Zayn sitting down and wiggling the computer mouse to awake the beast. The computer roars to life, the ventilator whirring with difficulty, as it exists sleeping mode. It has clearly seen better days.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I popped out for a fag. We’re usually pretty empty during the day,” Zayn explains. “Kids come to do homeworks once school is done, so I take my breaks whenever in the afternoon, you know? And today is saturday anyway, so I’m not expecting visitors.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry shrugs. “Must get pretty boring, uh?” he adds.

Zayn opens his mouth and starts scratching at his scruffy cheek.

He truly is distractingly attractive. Not Harry’s type exactly, but he still has intimidating features and soulful eyes that are hard to ignore. Not to mention the fact that he thinks the whole Ghost Hunting business is ridiculous and stupid. It’s enough to make Harry feel slightly awkward.

“S’not too bad,” Zayn ends up replying before reaching down and opening one of his drawers. “Gives me time to write,” he admits, gesturing vaguely towards an opened notebook that Harry had previously failed to notice. “Where are you,” Zayn mumbles, nose still buried inside the drawer and Harry takes the opportunity to take a step forward towards the desk, turning his head at an awkward angle to try and glimpse at the messy scrawls inside Zayn’s notebook.

It’s not very polite, but Harry is curious.

_… he had known no such calm, no such confusion. Tinted blue and ochre._

“There you go,” Zayn says, startling Harry into taking a step back.

He gulps when Zayn straightens himself on the stool, a bunch of papers into his hand, but Zayn only grabs a pen and closes his notebook like nothing happened, so Harry assumes he hasn’t been caught.

“What’s your name again?” Zayn asks with an awkward grimace.

Harry’s not quite sure why he should feel bad for not remembering when they didn’t even formally introduce themselves the night before, but Zayn looks uncomfortable at even having to ask.

“Harry,” he replies slowly, frowning when he notices the other man starting to write down, “Styles.” He pauses, eyes following the movement of Zayn’s pen on what looks like a library form. “What are you doing?” he asks after a beat.

Zayn stops and looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Filling out your form for a library card?” he explains slowly, like Harry is a particularly difficult five years old.

Ah. And here’s the irritated and moody young man he met the night before.

Harry looks behind his left shoulder for a second before wincing at Zayn. “I don’t want a library card,” he says, a bit too stilted.

Zayn snorts. “What the fuck are you doing _here_ then,” he asks. “I know the town is pretty boring, but surely there’s other places you could visit first,” he adds, clicking his pen absently.

Harry knows Zayn probably doesn’t mean to, but his entire demeanour is making him nervous, the way he’s sitting so casually, like he couldn’t be bothered, but still staring at him with hawk-like scrutiny.

Harry barely stops himself from gulping. “I’m meeting up with Niall,” he admits shyly. “He’s a bit late though,” he adds with a nervous chuckle.

Zayn narrows his eyes and gives him a suspicious look.

Harry bites his lower lips.

“Why?” Zayn demands, clicking his pen again.

Fuck, Harry thinks. He’s been found out.

“... fun?” he offers, putting both of his hands into the pockets of his jeans before shrugging. “Research,” he adds in a mumble, eyes dropping to his shoes.

Zayn sighs. “He’s got to you, hasn’t he?” he asks, looking a bit dejected. “I know the meetings are funny and everything, but don’t let yourself be dragged into their nonsense.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry replies, unwilling to admit that, if anything, he’s the one that got to Niall. He’s the one that… saw something.

“Listen, I’m not saying they’re a cult, or anything like that. They’re not dangerous, but they’re spreading nonsense so just… be aware and be careful.”

“Other beliefs aren’t necessarily nonsense,” Harry argues and a few weeks ago - hell! a few days ago - he probably would have agreed with Zayn, would probably have joined him in the teasing snorts and the sneers during the meeting. They’re a bunch of eccentrics it’s true and he probably would have found that extremely amusing, without being rude about it.

But now…. Now things are different. He’s not sure where he stands, and it feels important not to dismiss this, these people who, despite a different outlook on life, have welcomed him with warmth and friendship. Especially Niall, who listened to Harry’s story and vowed to help, without even knowing anything about him.

“Okay,” Zayn replies easily and it takes him by surprise for a second. Harry was expecting much more of a fight, but Zayn seems happy to drop it now that he’s said his piece. “Just wanted to warn you before you get too involved and it gets messy.”

“How would it get -” Harry starts asking but he’s interrupted by the sound of the door opening loudly, Niall’s cheery greeting putting a stop to his question.

“Hey Harry!” Niall says brightly the second he walks in. His face falls exaggeratedly when he notices Zayn, like he wants them to believe he’s surprised, and disappointed, to see him.  “Malik,” he grimaces. “Always a pleasure to see you here,” he adds sarcastically.

Zayn sighs. “I work here Niall,” he replies automatically and Harry gets the feeling that they’ve had this argument before. “If you don’t want to see me, have your brainwashing meetings somewhere else,” he adds, opening his notebook again.

“The information is here,” Niall argues, gesturing towards the shelves, and Harry has hard time believing there’s anything in this place that could tell him more than a few hours spent googling could.

“Google exists you know,” Zayn says absently, bending down to scribble something on the page.

“I’m your only customer, maybe you shouldn’t try to sell me alternatives to the library if you want to keep your job. Just a suggestion.”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind Horan.”

“Now, ready to do some research Harold?” Niall says, turning towards him.

He’s about to reply when Zayn interrupts them.

“Harry has been in town for a total of five minutes, did you really have to get him involved in your nonsense,” he says, sounding more exasperated than ever, eyes still fixed on his notebook. He hasn’t stopped writing.

“Our nonsense, darling,” Niall says sarcastically, dropping his elbow onto Zayn’s desks and his head into his palms. “You come to so many meetings,” he adds when Zayn finally looks up, fluttering his eyelids mockingly.

Harry snorts discreetly at Niall’s antics.

“I protest your meetings,” Zayn replies through gritted teeth, “there’s a difference.”

“If you say so,” Niall shrugs before stepping away from the desk. “Come on, Harry,” he adds, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him to the table furthest from the front desk.

He pushes him into a chair before settling down next to him and reaches inside his bag to take out an Ipad, opening a new document on it. Niall adjusts his glasses with one finger, licks his lower lip, then starts typing. He writes _Old Hillsbridge Manor Mission_ at the top of the document before adjusting the settings to underline it.

“Old Hillsbridge Manor Mission?” Harry asks, giving the title a confused look.

“It’s the name of the operation,” Niall says giddily, like they’re still children pretending to be spies on the playground instead of two adults… hunting for ghosts.

Harry rolls his eyes. What the fuck is he doing?

“Bit of a mouthful,” he argues, pointing at the title taking more than half of the page. What is it with these people are their crazy long names? What’s wrong with not over explaining in the naming process?

“OHMM for short,” Niall shrugs, unbothered by Harry’s critical point of view.

“Right,” Harry says slowly with a nod. He’s part of this.

“Ohh-mmmmmm,” Niall moans, trying it out. He stops when he notices Harry’s face fall dramatically.

“Don’t… do that,” Harry whispers, looking behind himself at the desk where Zayn is still writing, apparently unbothered by their strange behaviour. “That’s not inconspicuous. At all.”

“You’re right,” Niall agrees easily. “If we want to talk about it in public we need to be subtle. OHMM is a much better name.”

“I guess it will do,” Harry agrees half-heartedly. Truth be told, he doesn’t have a better name to offer. In an ideal world, the operation wouldn’t need a name. Still, he’s joined this now. This is his life. He might as well embrace it.

“So,” Niall begins, adding _first encounter_ as a subtitle and italicizing it, “tell me everything.”

He turns to Harry, eyes wide beneath his thick round glasses. It would be funny under any other circumstances, the way he almost looks like an owl, still and piercing, awaiting Harry’s story patiently. It’s not funny though, because this is the moment of truth, where he has to share what happened and Niall, the expert, will decide if it’s worth pursuing or not. If it’s not, Harry’s not quite sure how he’ll be able to justify it for himself. If Niall says it was nothing, or that Harry was making the whole thing up… But there’s no point in panicking, not yet.

Harry risks a quick glance to the front desk, anticipating to find Zayn silently judging them, but he’s still completely absorbed by his own writing, pen flying over the page as he writes and writes and writes. Hopefully he’s too captivated by his own world to hear what Harry has to say.

“I went there for a photography project,” Harry begins, unsure how much detail he should give. “I just graduated,” he adds, trying to explain himself.

“You’re a photographer?” Niall asks, scribbling something on the Ipad.

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says, tapping his fingers nervously against the table. “Well, trying to be anyway. I had a job at this magazine in Manchester… I mean, not a job exactly,” he corrects, shaking his head at himself. “An internship? It was supposed to lead to a job but then there were… budget cuts, I guess? And they couldn’t really justify hiring me for real?”

Niall hums, wincing in sympathy. “That’s a bummer,” he says and Harry supposes that’s one way of putting it. He had mentally used much stronger words when he’d first heard the news.

“Yeahhh,” Harry says bitterly, not even trying to hide how upset he feels. His whole life went up in flames, his five years plan destroyed in a few seconds, and here he is, back on square one. “I supposed that’s one way of seeing things.”

“That’s why you moved back with your parents, then? Why you’re in town?” Niall asks and Harry’s grateful that he’s not commenting on his piss-poor attitude. He wasn’t quite expecting to give Niall his whole life story so quickly, and he supposes he doesn’t have to be so detailed, but now that he’s started speaking, Harry figures he might as well explain the whole thing.

“Yeah. I… split up with someone too, my uni boyfriend?” he adds hesitantly, shrugging and trying to sound indifferent.

Niall’s shoulders fall and he gives Harry a small smile. “Wow, rough end of the summer then?” he asks rhetorically.

Harry inhales sharply. “You could say that,” he replies with a nod. “And now I’m…. seeing things,” he adds with a bitter laugh. “And I don’t even know if they’re real or if I’ve just… fully lost it.”

Niall hums quietly for a second before giving Harry a calculating look. “Is that what this is then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You having a midlife crisis or something?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know? That or a nervous breakdown.”

“How old are you?” Niall asks with a chuckle.

Harry gives him a suspicious look before replying, uncertain where this is supposed to go. “Twenty-two,” he replies half-heartedly.

“That’s what I thought,” Niall hums.

“What?”

“You’re way too young for a midlife crisis!” he replies enthusiastically, a teasing smile on his face.

Harry frowns and folds his arms tightly across his chest. “Are you saying I’m having a nervous breakdown?” he demands, feeling a bit insulted and cheated. Niall is supposed to be on his side, he’s supposed to tell him that everything he’s feeling, and more importantly everything he’s seen, is completely normal. Why isn’t he following the _Reassure Harry about the Potential Ghost_ script?

Niall bursts into laughter at the question, clearly not caring that Harry is in such turmoil. Some great new friend he’s turning out to be.

“I should go,” Harry mumbles, reaching for his jacket.

“No, no, no,” Niall laughs, grabbing Harry’s arm, “I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. I know this is confusing and it’s your first experience with the paranormal, it’s okay to feel uncertain. Especially considering you’ve had a lot on your plate.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, slowly taking his hand off the jacket.

“Look, I know you’re a bit of a skeptic-”

“I’m not!” Harry interrupts because he doesn’t think he is. He’s just never really had a lot of time to think about it; to ponder the greater meanings of life, or death. This is a brand new territory, and he feels like he’s just stumbled upon an answer before really getting the chance to fully ask himself the question.

He takes a shuddery breath, hands moving incoherently in front of him and mouth opening to try and explain himself. It lasts a second before he deflates and drops his head on the table.

“I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what to think.”

“Why did you say yes to investigating with me, then?” Niall asks, poking him repeatedly in the shoulder to try and get him to get up.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, making Niall’s finger disappear. “I don’t know,” he repeats into the table.

Niall hums. “That’s not good enough,” he declares.

“What?” Harry asks, getting up from the table to give Niall a shocked and offended look.

“It’s not a good enough answer,” Niall argues. “If you agreed to push this forward you had a reason, and I want to know.” There’s a small beat of silence before Niall continues. “I think… if we’re gonna be a team on this, I deserve to know.”

Harry bites his lower lips in reply. He has no idea why he said yes. He had every single intention to say no, to refuse categorically to be involved in any way and yet… Here he is, confused, but curious, still unable to leave.

“I guess…” Harry sighs. He gulps before starting again, hoping he can manage a hint of coherence this time. “I guess I figured it couldn’t hurt to explore this further. It might have been a ghost. It might have been something else. It might have been nothing and the stress _really is_ getting to me. I don’t know yet. But I’d like to find out.”

“So you don’t think it was a ghost?” Niall asks, writing it down on the Ipad.

“Well it was something, and it’d be foolish of me to pretend it wasn’t. I figured, you’re here and willing to help me… Process of elimination, right? Once the ghost theory is discarded I can focus on something else?”

“What if I’m proven right?” Niall teases.

“Then I’ll know for sure,” Harry replies.

Niall hums, looking pensive for a second, and then he grins again, like nothing even happened. “That’s fair,” he agrees warmly. “I guess I’ll just have to make a believer out of you, I suppose,” he adds with a wink.

“Maybe,” Harry chuckles. “I keep going back and forth, to be honest.”

“Meaning?”

“It was a ghost. It wasn’t a ghost, you’re crazy. It was a ghost. It wasn’t a ghost, you’re crazy,” Harry explains, making a circular motion with his finger. “Repeat.”

Niall squeaks. “Right, long evening then?”

Harry snorts. “Mate, you have no idea. I was messed up the other night.”

“Alright then, we’ll see if we can make sense of it all. Tell me what happened.”

“Right, so I was going for a photography project. I figured I needed something to occupy myself until I can find a job, and abandoned places have this vibe, you know? They can make gorgeous photographs and I figured a manor like that? Even in that state, it must be beautiful.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah, so I looked it up online and it seemed like the owner isn’t really present, and doesn’t care, so I thought it would be safe to go even if it’s still trespassing… technically. And the first couple of times it was fine, nobody was there. I spent two full days taking pictures and exploring the place.”

“Nothing bizarre happened those first few times?” Niall asks, with a serious look on his face. He’s listening intensely, Harry can tell, eager to get every single little detail of the story, to not let any stones unturned.

“Well,” Harry shrugs, hesitating for an instant. He hadn’t really thought of them as bizarre incidents but now… He’s not quite sure.

“No detail is too small,” Niall encourages. “If it’s not relevant, then it’s not but we’re not taking any chances with this. I want us to establish a complete timeline of everything that happened, see if there’s a pattern.”

“A pattern?” Harry asks. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“Yeah, like… is it always on Sundays? Or on full moons? Or every three days?” Niall enumerates from the top of his head. “If we manage to figure out a pattern, then it’s easier for us to predict the next apparition. We can observe, take notes, maybe even talk to him!”

Harry can tell Niall is getting excited over this, ideas of grandeur flashing before his eyes as he keeps speaking and gesticulating. Harry really hopes it won’t end in disappointment for him.

“He did talk to you, right?” Niall asks, even though Harry is pretty sure they’ve already established that. But it looks like Niall is so eager that he can’t help himself reconfirming it, like he needs the reminder that this is real and it’s happening here, in his village.

“Yes,” Harry chuckles in response, unable not to feel endeared. “He talked to me, but I thought we were focusing on my first few visits?”

“Right,” Niall shakes his head before giggling. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Please continue. Anything weird that first time?”

“Well, I didn’t really think anything of it, but… The first day I focused on the servants’ quarters? The basement and their bedrooms? When I was upstairs in the bedrooms, I heard a laugh. I thought I was just tired.”

“What kind of laugh?”

Harry snorts. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Niall replies with a shrug, delighted. “Maybe!”

Harry rolls his eyes before replying. “It was a giggle, if you must know. In the corridor. I thought I’d been caught. Then I heard it a second time, like the person was laughing right next to me in that bedroom. When I looked outside the room, there was no one there. I figured I was more tired than I thought, and I left.”

“And you didn’t think it could be-”

“Of course not!” Harry interrupts. “It was a silly little sound, less than a second. I figured I was making it up.”

“But then it happened again?” Niall offers with a compassionate look.

“Well it’s like you said… the music.”

“You heard it too?”

Harry nods. “In the drawing room? I thought…. Maybe it was an old radio someone forgot in the basement or something like that. But it was like someone was playing piano right there. Right next to me. Again.”

“And there’s a piano in that room,” Niall declares even though he doesn’t need to. They’ve both been there, and maybe Harry isn’t as familiar with the place as Niall is, but how is he supposed to forget this.

“Yes, but it’s not just that though.”

“What do you mean?” Niall asks.

“I played a song on the piano and it answered me. I couldn’t remember the ending and… something or someone finished it for me.”

Niall’s mouth drops open silently. His eyes widen and he stays still like a statue for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “And you didn’t think it was a ghost then?”

Harry supposes it was silly of him not to think of it. It just seemed so far-fetched and impossible. It didn’t even cross his mind.

“No… I mean, I thought the mould was making me see things, or that my brain was messed up. I thought… I don’t know.”

“Mould?”

“It can happen,” Harry insists. “But I don’t believe that anymore. The last apparition… it was too real.”

“You know, we’re not the only ones who have heard freaky shit coming from there?” Niall says pointedly, leaning towards Harry over the table.

“We’re not?” Harry asks, intrigued by the story of the place and the relationship the rest of the village seems to have with it.

Niall shakes his head quickly. “It’s always been rumoured to be haunted. Even back when The Tomlinsons lived there.”

“The Tomlinsons?” Harry asks even though he’s already familiar with the name.

“The Earl and his family, they used to own the Estate and the whole village. They had to sell in the mid twenties. Most Stately Homes fell apart after the war, they were just too expensive to maintain so a lot of aristocrats had to move away. The Tomlinsons had been owners for generations and even they, according to legend, would hear weird stuff in the house.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, that’s partly why Mrs. Wilcox founded the society. Her mother worked at the manor, and she always told her about the noises and the chatter in empty corridors. People arguing sometimes, laughter others…”

“So… you think my ghost could have been there for over a century?” Harry asks, frowning. He’s not an historical expert, far from it, and the suit the man was wearing seemed pretty straight-forward, with nothing special to distinguish it from a million of others through the 18th and 19th century.

“I don’t know. But it’s a special place that’s for sure. There’s something going on there, there has always been.”

“I’m… surprised,” Harry begins, biting his lower lips and feeling a bit hesitant to elaborate.

“That’s such a place could be famously haunted?”

“No… I’m surprised it wasn’t mentioned more at the meeting? If you say that’s what convinced Mrs. Wilcox that ghosts are real and all that paranormal stuff, why aren’t you guys focusing on it? Why aren’t you making the trip up there, instead of going to random cemeteries?”

Niall snorts. “You think we haven’t?” he asks. “My first three years in the society, back when I was still in secondary school, I spent every week end there. I… know that place by heart. I have spent the night in every single room. I tried… everything. Every season, every phase of the moon, every equinox, everything. I heard the music. I heard the laughter. I know there’s something going on there.”

“But nothing beyond that?” Harry asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Nothing. None of us ever has. Except you.”

“I guess I understand your excitement better, now,” Harry replies, feeling an uncomfortable weight settle on his shoulders. If this turns out to be a bust, will Niall ever forgive him for bringing him back into this pipe dream?

“So, laughter upstairs the first time?”

“Yes. And music on the ground floor the next day.”

“What day?”

“Hum, first time was Monday, and then Tuesday.”

“So the full apparition was on a Wednesday?” Niall assumes.

Harry nods. “Do you think that’s important?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances. What happened when you saw him?”

“I decided to use the front door for the first time. The other days I’d just taking the side entrance?”

“The servants entrance,” Niall confirms.

“Right,” Harry nods. “I guess, I just wanted to explore a different part of the house, and see it in a different way. I got in and I sort of stayed in the foyer, near the door, looking at things when he… appeared I suppose. I thought he was the owner and I just hadn’t noticed him, but I guess he wasn’t there at all at first.”

“So you didn’t see him appear? It wasn’t like…. Poof he’s there?” Niall gestures, making a small explosion with his hands.

Harry shakes his head. “No, I really thought he was a person. Nothing seemed weird until he started fading away. I mean, I guess what he was saying was confusing? But I didn’t think _oh clearly this is a ghost!_ I mean… I’m still not thinking that,” Harry chuckles, rubbing the tip of his nose.

“What was he saying?”

“Hum… He asked me if I was from the village? If I was there looking for a job or something? Then he said that walking in without ringing the bell was rude, and he offered me money, and really judged my skinny jeans by the apparent dislike on his face when he looked at them.”

Niall laughs. “Amazing.”

“That a ghost made fun of my skinny jeans?” Harry asks. Truth be told, looking back on it, it is quite amusing. Harry secretly hopes that it hurt the ghost’s Victorian sensibilities.

“No… that you saw him and he saw you? You interacted? Do you know how rare that is? It’s incredible. A lot of people see apparitions, but beyond mediums most people don’t have full contact like that.”

“So I’m lucky to have been mocked?”

“I would kill to be mocked by ghost,” Niall says a hint too seriously, face going dark for a second there.

There’s a little sigh coming from behind them, and Harry hears a mumbled “for fuck’s sake” coming from the librarian’s desk.

Niall turns around, letting his forearms rest on his chair. “I’m not joking,” he says with emphasis.

“That’s what worries me,” Zayn replies.

Niall opens his mouth to argue but Zayn shakes his head. “And that’s the sign for me to take a break,” he adds, getting up and reaching for his coat.

“You just took one,” Niall argues.  

“Moving on,” Harry says, clearing his throat. He’s not sure what’s up with this feud but one thing’s for certain is that he really doesn’t want to get caught up in the middle. These two either need to duel in the street formerly, or they need fuck. Either way, Harry would rather not be present.

“You’re right,” Niall says quickly, shaking his head in evident discouragement at himself. “What happened next?”

“Well, he was holding money, handing it to me and it…. It started to disappear? Like it got paler at first, like a faded photograph, you know? And I thought, maybe it was me? My eyesight or something? But then it didn’t stop and all of him started fading until he was gone.”

Niall hums and starts typing diligently. “How long did the process take?”

Harry snorts. “A second!” he exclaims, gesticulating widely. “Less than that!”

“And are you _sure_?” Niall insists.

Harry tries not to laugh but it’s difficult. “Of course not,” he replies with a giggle and he knows it borderlines hysteria, with the way his hands start shaking, but Niall doesn’t get it. Why isn’t he getting it? “Of course I’m not sure Niall! It happened in an instant, a blink of an eye! How am I supposed to be sure of what I saw? But I can swear to you, on my life, that he was there one moment and gone the next.”

“That’s amazing,” Niall giggles. “What did you do after? Did you freak out?”

“I tried to find a rational explanation. I looked for him in the foyer and the stairs and the corridors and the bedrooms upstairs…. But of course, I was alone. Then, after looking for him basically everywhere, I started to freak out and that’s when I ran away.”

Niall passes a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the timeline he’s been building on the Ipad. “And you haven’t been back since?” he asks, frowning a little.

Harry shudders. It’s been a few days  now and still, the thought of going back to the manor gives him the creeps. “No,” he admits shyly. “I just couldn’t.”

“Would you be willing to?” Niall asks.

“Yeah,” Harry replies hesitantly. “I guess so. I mean, it’s silly to be nervous about it, it’s not like he was monstrous or he could hurt me.”

“Well, unless the nasty look towards your skinny jeans hurt your feelings,” Niall teases.

“Ha. Ha.”

Harry pushes Niall a little, not hard enough to make him fall off his chair, but still enough for him to squeak.

“I’m just sayin’,” he replies, holding his Ipad protectively against his chest.

“What about the family? I tried looking for information on them online, but there wasn’t much,” Harry says instead of continuing their immature bickering. _Gemma_ tried to find more information on them, but same difference, really.

“Yeah, I know. They sort of… disappeared after selling the Estate. The shame of the whole thing pushed them into obscurity I guess.”

“Shame?” Harry asks, confused.

“You know, mighty aristocrats losing the ancestral land. It wasn’t exactly a picnic for them, I assume. Anyway, there’s a book of local history, in there, that has some photographs of them, if you curious,” Niall says, pointing towards a badly lit area of the library. “I’ll check it out for you if you want?”

“Yeah, I… I’d like to know more. The ghost is probably someone who lived, or worked there.”

“Well, it could be a posh lad that died there too, doesn’t necessarily mean he was member of the family. But it’s worth giving it a try,” Niall says optimistically, putting down his tablet and making his chair screech violently as he gets up, quickly running to the stacks of books he pointed to a second ago.

“Here we go,” he says happily once he’s back, dropping the book right in front of Harry. He opens it and starts turning the pages quickly, showing Harry different pictures of the village’s past. There’s a few pictures of shops through the years, a few families, even a photo of Mrs. Wilcox as a young girl if Harry managed to read the caption right with how quickly Niall is going through the book.

“Wait,” Harry gasps, grabbing Niall’s wrist before he can turn the page again. He lets his eyes roam this particular photo hungrily, heart beating wildly in his chest.

It’s a family portrait, that much is obvious, the Earl and his wife smacked right in the middle, in front of the foyer, ornately decorated. The picture is black and white but Harry can easily imagine the way her jewels shone brightly, red stones or maybe green, a reflection of the lady’s social status. Next to them are a gaggle of girls, toddlers and children and teenagers, all of them dressed as impeccably. But that’s not what catches Harry’s eyes. No, there in the right corner, next to the Earl, is the ghost. It’s the man he saw, who yelled at him for invading his property, and it’s proof right there… This man existed, a creature of flesh and blood from another century and definitely not somebody that Harry imagined. Harry’s eyes drop to the bottom of the photograph where the inscription reads _Lord & Lady Tomlinson, surrounded by their children Louis, Charlotte, Félicité, Daisy, Phoebe, Ernest and Doris. Christmas Day, 1921. _

“It’s him,” Harry whispers, letting his finger fall on the page, stroking the tiny image of the man he saw.

“That’s the man you saw?” Niall asks, bending so close to the book that his nose almost touches the page. “You’re sure?” he adds, leaving the book alone and turning towards Harry.

Harry nods, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, as he sneaks another glance into the serious face of Louis Tomlinson.

He’s real. He’s right there. He existed. And Harry has never felt more terrified.

“I’m sure,” he says with gulp. “I could never forget that face,” he admits. He could never forget those cheekbones and that nose, the way he stood, confident and regal but not without kindness. And those eyes… Harry sighs. He could never forget those eyes.

“Harry,” Niall says slowly and Harry shakes his head, not quite ready for what this implies.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah.”

“What happened to him?” Harry asks, reaching for the book, starting to turn the pages frantically, looking for more information, but there is nothing but pictures, pages and pages of pictures and whoever said a picture is worth a thousand words clearly wasn’t thinking straight because Harry would kill for just one line about how this man died.

“There’s no point,” Niall says, grabbing Harry’s hand, stopping his fidgety movement. “We don’t know what happened to him after the Estate was sold.”

“What?” Harry gasps. “How is that possible? How can we not know? He was an aristocrat, surely that’s against the law to forget about them?”

Niall laughs. “Unfortunately not. We know a bit about some of the sisters, but that’s it.”

Harry frowns. “You’ve looked into this before, right?”

“Yeah, but just because I haven’t found the information, doesn’t mean it’s not out there. With your help, we might be able to find something new.”

“You really think so?”

“I hope so,” Niall replies.

*

On Monday night, Harry wakes up in a gasp, body tense and on alert. For a few seconds, he has no idea what woke him up until he hears it again. There’s something being thrown against his window, the thud of it now regular like whatever, or most likely whoever, it is feels really determined to make as much noise as possible. Harry sighs and grabs a shirt, quickly putting it on so he doesn’t open the window in his pants. He squints in the dark, trying to spot the source of the noise in the seemingly empty backyard.  He can’t see anything for a few seconds, until a light flashes in his face.

He grimaces and closes his eyes, waits a beat before opening them again and reaching for the window latch.

“Took ya long enough!” a now familiar Irish voice whispers through the dark when Harry finally opens the window.

“Niall?” he asks, voice still laced with sleep, and brain a bit muddled and confused. Were they supposed to meet up?

“Obviously it’s me,” Niall replies with a laugh and he really comes across as someone who has never second-guessed himself for a second in his entire lifetime. Everything seems simple when it comes to him. Of course it's Niall, throwing what appears to be rocks at Harry’s window, and why shouldn’t he do that? Why shouldn’t Harry expect him? “Did you make any other friends in this town?” he adds matter-of-factly, like it’s the Niall part, and not the middle of the night rock throwing part, that’s confusing.

“Uh…” Harry clears his throat. “Why are you here again?”

“We’re going to Hillsbridge Manor,” Niall replies enthusiastically, waving his light victoriously. “This time of night is the best for sightings.”

“Did we agree to that?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes sleepily with a loosely formed fist. “Was I supposed to meet you?” He’s pretty sure they never discussed the specifics of when they were going to further investigate the place, but Niall is so confident right now that Harry isn’t quite certain anymore.

“Well, technically no,” Niall shrugs, “but it’s perfect! No time like the present, right? Get down here!”

“What?”

“Get dressed and get down, it’s not that high anyway,” Niall explains, pointing at the slope of the roof and the distance between it and the yard.

“I’m not going through the window, are you insane?” Harry says a bit too loud. “Gimme five minute and I’ll join you out front,” he adds with a whisper.

“But that’s not properly sneaking out!” Niall argues but he’s laughing so hard Harry assumes he’s joking.

Although, with everything he’s started learning about this man, he’s not so sure.

“I’m an adult Niall,” Harry replies firmly. “I don’t need to sneak out. See you in five.”

He doesn’t have to explain himself. If his mum or Robin wakes up, he’ll just say he’s going out with some new friends. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. As he starts fumbling for a pair of sweatpants in the dark, Harry figures if he says it enough times it will become true.  

*

Thankfully, Niall owns a car, which means that Harry gets to snooze a little, head resting against the window, as they make their way to the manor. Niall is driving slowly in the dark, car moving at a terrible pace as they make their way up the hill, and Harry is almost dreaming when he’s startled awake by a bang against his window.

“What the fuck!” he yells, right hand against his chest as Niall hits the break and Harry sees a dark shape moving in the corner of his eyes before the back door opens.

“Hey,” Zayn says, putting a friendly hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing here?” Harry asks in a high-pitched voice, heart still racing like mad.

Zayn chuckles. “Did you think I was a ghost?” he teases.

“I thought you were a murderer!” Harry whispers, shrugging Zayn’s hand off his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I told you to meet us at the manor,” Niall says, sternly, as he starts the car again.

“Well –”

“Wait,” Harry interrupts, “you invited him?”

“’Course,” Niall shrugs happily as they drive through the gates and he breaks a few feet from the front door.

“I thought you guys were… nemesis, or something,” Harry exclaims, feeling suddenly rather foolish. Nobody has a nemesis in real life, of course. What was he thinking?

Zayn snorts and Harry doesn’t know how he manages it, but it sounds beautiful and elegant in his voice, like there’s no way a man as delicately sculpted as Zayn could produce anything undignified.

“I’m scepticism,” he explains once he’s done laughing. “It’s useful to have somebody willing to debunk his crazy theories,” he adds, pointing at Niall with his index.

“One day, I’ll get you,” Niall says happily, slapping Zayn’s finger away as he reaches for his rucksack in the back seats. Zayn grimaces, eyes following Niall’s shape as he gets out of the car.

“Doubtful,” Zayn drawls, stretching the second syllable as he follows Niall’s example. He slams the door shut making Harry jump again.

Harry takes a few deep breaths, psyching himself up and letting them walk to the main entrance by themselves. It’s not that he’s scared, not really. After all, whatever it was that he experienced here the last time wasn’t threatening. There’s no reason for him to be afraid. Still, he can’t help the way his heart feels like it’s swinging in his chest, uncertain and nervous at the thought of what might happen. He shakes his head, passing a hand through his hair quickly before reaching inside his pocket and putting on his mum’s beanie. Yorkshire at night in the middle of October is colder than he’d wish it to be.

He’s pretty sure he can do this.

“Bit hypocritical then,” Harry says once he’s joined Niall and Zayn at the door.

“Who? Me?” Zayn asks, pointing at himself for a second, and then reaching behind his ear for a cigarette. “I don’t see how,” he adds messily around the cancer stick once he’s put it in his mouth.

“You warn me off this guy and his lot and their ridiculous crusade, yet here you are too. Just as involved,” Harry argues. It’s not that he’s feeling particularly strongly about this, but he’s been a tad irritated at Zayn ever since they met again at the library. He’s able to make his own decision, doesn’t need to be warned off anybody. Harry is an adult after all, even if he doesn’t always feel quite like one. It was annoying of Zayn to assume he knew better.

“I never said crusade,” Zayn chuckles before taking a drag, “but I quite like that. A pointless crusader, that’s you Nialler.”

“I’m not listening,” Niall replies absently, fiddling with the door.

“Anyway, I’m here to prove him wrong, not to let myself be manipulated by erroneous reports.”

“I think I’m old enough to figure out what I think for myself and not let myself be manipulated,” Harry replies, hoping it doesn’t come across as whiny - and pissed - as he feels.

“Fair enough, I apologise.”

“Good,” Harry replies and Zayn opens his mouth to say something when the door creaks open.

“Are you guys done?” Niall asks, stern and judgemental, arms folded across his chest for a second before he turns around and walks into the empty manor. Well, seemingly empty at least. Who knows who might appear before the end of the night.

“After you,” Zayn teases, raising an eyebrow and, well, Harry isn’t the type to back down from a challenge so he follows Niall inside without thinking twice about it.

 

If a ghost shows up, a ghost shows up. He won’t be surprised this time, at least.

The first thing Harry sees once he gets in is Niall dropping his backpack to the ground next to the door, and reaching inside to offer Zayn a flashlight when he joins both of them.

“What the hell is that?” Zayn asks, somehow managing to sound both bored and exasperated in the same breath. He’s looking down at where Niall is still kneeling on the floor, hand outstretched towards him and offering him the light.

“A flashlight… ?” he repeats, hesitantly and frowning. “Obviously,” he adds with a chuckle. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but it’s quite dark, here, at night. S’why we need those,” he says, pointing to his frontal lamp. It sits proudly on his head, the elastic band making his hair stick in every direction, giving him a slight deranged scientist look.

For a moment, Harry wonders if he’s had it on all along and he had simply failed to notice in his sleepy state, before deciding that it doesn’t really matter. He shivers, wrapping his arms a little tighter around himself, and his fingers grips his own lamp forcefully. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing here anymore.

“I’m talking about that yellow monstrosity,” Zayn says and he doesn’t sound particularly amused or teasing. Harry is pretty sure Zayn is wondering what he’s doing here too, despite his early arguments.

Niall rolls his eyes like he’s used to the insults, before smirking. “‘S’my rucksack,” he replies with a small sigh, and Harry would bet good money that this isn’t the first time he’s had to explain himself, especially to Zayn.

“Your ghost-hunting rucksack?” Harry asks, trying to sneak a look inside. It looks full, but even with their lights on, it’s too dark for him to get a full look at what’s hiding inside. What could they possibly need? A ouija board?

Niall just shrugs. “Sure,” he replies, waving the flashlight until Zayn sighs and takes a step forward to grab it. He turns it on straight away, accidentally pointing it at Harry’s face. He yelps, blinking fast to try and get used to unexpected brightness.

Zayn winces. “Sorry bro,” he says in a small voice, giving him what Harry assumes is his best pout. “Back to this rucksack, though,” Zayn continues with a grimace, “is it yellow so the ghosts will see you?” he adds teasingly, and for a second there, Harry could swear it’s fondness rather than exasperation that’s painted on Zayn’s face. He blinks and the moment is gone though.

“You’re very funny,” Niall deadpans, head buried in his bag again. “Ah-ha!” he says triumphantly, holding out what looks like a tube.

“What is that?” Harry asks, almost fearing the answer.

“That, Harry, is a very important Ghost Hunting tool,” Niall replies with a smirk, before getting up and taking the dust off his jeans.

“That’s a thermometer.”

Niall rolls his eyes before turning towards Zayn. “Yes, very good Malik. Good observation skills.”

“This is going to be some bullshit _ghosts affecting the atmosphere_ theory, isn’t it?”

“You see, Harry,” Niall starts explaining, completely ignoring Zayn’s comment, “spiritual activities have different ways of manifesting themselves. Sometimes it’s through noise, or apparition, like what happened with you.”

“The piano,” Harry replies, remembering the drawing room and the music that shouldn’t have been there.

“But sometimes, it’s a bit more subtle than that.”

Zayn snorts.

“Sometimes,” Niall continues through gritted teeth, clearly struggling with pretending Zayn isn’t speaking anymore, “it manifests itself in changes of temperature.”

“Really?” Harry asks skeptically.

“Oh yeah.”

“Wait, is that the only proof of spiritual activities then?” Zayn asks with a giggle. “The temperature drops and suddenly that means there’s a ghost there?”

Even in the dark of the foyer, Harry can see the way Niall’s cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“I… It-it’s not the _only_ sign,” Niall stutters.

 _Oh god_ , Harry thinks, rolling his eyes. He leaves them to their bickering for a second, walking through the foyer and into the hall, eyes going up to look at the majestic staircase leading up to the first floor. Their voices become muffled; fading into the background as Harry recalls the last time he was here. He stops before venturing too far, walking back to the exact spot where Louis William Tomlinson disappeared. Harry waves his flashlight for a second, observing the blank wall.

It’s nothing special really, a bit of mouldy wall and dust, and no matter how long Harry stares nothing happens.

“Harry?” Niall’s voice calls out, taking him out of his thoughts.

“You guys are done fighting, then?” Harry replies, turning his back on the spot with a gulp.

“We’re not fighting,” Niall says happily while Zayn simultaneous goes “yep, we’re done”.

“I’ve recorded the temperature and we’ll check it a few more times through the night, to see if there are any interesting shifts,” Niall starts explaining.

“Aren’t we going to see a ghost if anything happens?” Zayn asks.

“Don’t start,” Niall warns.

“I’m just asking. I don’t see the point. Harry saw someone out here, right?”

Harry looks between them awkwardly. “Hum… Yeah, I did, but…. I mean… Niall is the expert.”

“Yeah, but I’m assuming the goal is to see this bloke again. Why are we checking weather patterns?” Zayn asks and Harry doesn’t want to say it out loud, but he supposes Zayn has a point.

“You want me to prove this, right? You don’t believe me and you want scientific, rational explanations?” Niall demands, voice getting louder and louder with each words. “This is how you do it. You record stuff and enter data and all that crap.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, and Harry genuinely thinks he should perhaps give up on this whole thing because he did not sign up to be the third wheel to whatever it is those two have got going on, but suddenly Zayn makes a funny, disbelieving, face and they both start laughing.

“Don’t!” Niall warns, scrunching his nose and shaking his head.

“And all that crap?” Zayn still says, pushing softly at Niall’s shoulder. “You’re a true scientist buddy.” He takes a final drag before flicking his cigarette to the floor and stepping on it.

“I said don’t!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Zayn shrugs, turning around to point his flashlight on the ceiling, observing the mould up there. “Might wanna check up on your scientific babble before you start publishing your findings.”

“Baby steps,” Niall exclaims, closing the ipad Harry hadn’t noticed he was holding. Of course, gathering data, or whatever it is scientific people actually do.

“What’s the next step then?” Harry asks. He still has no idea what they are actually doing here, and, so far, there hasn’t been anything bizarre from the house itself. It creaks a bit, but no more than any other old buildings. Still, being here at night, hanging in the dark, isn’t exactly comfortable and Harry keeps looking over his shoulder despite himself. Every sound, every shadow, seems suspicious.

“We’re going to recreate the events so that we can all have a full picture of what happened exactly,” Niall declares happily. “Harry, you’ll be playing yourself, of course, and Zayn you’ll be the ghost.”

“Playing myself?” Harry says in an unimpressed voice.

“Yes, where were you exactly?” Niall asks, bending down to take out a measure tape from his rucksack. “Like, what position? Be as precise as possible please.”

“Hummmmm,” Harry hesitates, glancing at the spot where he first saw Louis Tomlinson. Zayn giggles, trying to hide his laugh into his hand.

“Theatre, now?” he teases, kicking softly at Niall’s ankle.

“Yes, now hush and let Harry answer. He’ll have instructions for you.”

They both turn expectant eyes on him.

“I was there,” Harry replies quickly, pointing the spot. “And Louis was there.”

In his defence, Zayn is fast in his response, no mocking included. He moves straight away, placing himself a little bit left of where the sighting actually occurred.

“Humm, actually can you move a bit,” Harry says, gesturing in the direction he wants him to move.

Zayn takes one step sideways, then another at Harry’s instructions.

“Perfect,” Harry mumbles as he moves to his own spot. “This is basically how we were when he first appeared,” he adds towards Niall.

Niall nods, taking what is probably an awful picture on his ipad, the flash violent in the darkness. “This is good,” he mumbles as he starts to type. “Tell me more.”

“Like does he have a car?” Harry deadpans, and Zayn snorts. “I mean probably considering how rich they were, but I doubt an Earl’s son would know how to drive. They don’t on Downton Abbey.”

“Of course, because that’s a good historical source,” Zayn replies, still looking amused.

“Well, that’s the one I have ‘cause my mum got really into it until the blond one died, but I’ll make sure to ask the ghost, next time I see him.” Harry takes on a higher, mocking voice. “Hi Louis, I know you’re busy being dead and all, but do you drive? It’s just I need to know if this TV series is accurate is all. What’s TV? Don’t worry about it bro, considering your age I’m assuming you died before it became an issue.”

“Actually,” Niall interrupts, “he might not have died young. There’s a lot of research and theories about ghosts appearances and it’s not necessarily black and white.”

“I was joking,” Harry replies. “Obviously.”

“I know, I’m just saying! It’s really interesting to see the different school of thoughts,” Niall says happily, like he’s just so excited to share, and Harry supposes it is interesting to think about it. Still, he’s not sure the middle of the night is the best moment for him to expose them to that debate.

“So, I was standing here,” Harry explains, hoping to change the subject, “and he was standing there. And I hadn’t noticed him, at first, but then he confronted me about trespassing?”

Niall moves forward, putting his ipad underneath his armpits. He starts measuring the distance between Harry and Zayn, nodding at them to keep going.  

“And, he was telling me how rude I was to walk in and that if I needed a job I couldn’t just come in and beg… Or something. I feel like I’ve told you all of this before,” Harry says awkwardly, “but whatever.”

“Zayn doesn’t know,” Niall replies automatically, eyes fixed on his tape. He hums and puts it in the back pocket of his jeans. Then, he grabs his ipad again, most likely to record the data.

“Right,” Harry replies trying not to sound too doubtful. What does Niall needs this data for? “After that, he judged my outfit and he offered me money. He walked towards me and I walked backwards into the door,” Harry explains as he does it, feeling his back press against the door. He shivers, remembering the intensity of Louis Tomlinson’s gaze. “Then he… started to vanish.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t make it up?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow, tossing his flashlight back and forth in his hands.

Harry clenches his jaw. “I’m sure,” he replies, pushing himself off the door and walking back to his original spot. He’s not sure at all, he’s the opposite of sure, but if Zayn is going to be a dismissive arsehole then Harry can fake certainty for a bit.

“But he’s not here now?”

“Evidently not Zayn,” Harry says, gesturing to the empty foyer.

“Well, if you’re the only one who can see him…”

“I’m not crazy!”

“That’s not what I said bro. I’m just asking questions. As the disbeliever of the team, I think I’m allowed.”

“Right. No, he’s not here right now and I haven’t heard or sensed anything since we walked in. I don’t know about Niall…?”

Niall shakes his head and reaches inside his bag for the thermometer again, like that’s even remotely relevant to what they’re doing.

“Temperature has been pretty consistent,” he replies with a hum. “How about you guys act it out for a second, just so I get a better idea.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Zayn speaks up.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a bored voice. “You rude peasant, you can’t come in here to beg.”

Harry hides his laugh in hands.

“What? Is that not how rich pretentious ghosts talk?”

Harry scrunches his nose. “Not far off, actually.”

“Concentrate boys, please, I’m trying to get a full picture of the supernatural events here,” Niall interrupts in a scolding voice and, for a second, Harry wonders if he was a teacher in a past life.

“Right,” Harry nods. “Hum, I think I said what and sorry a lot. He accused me of stealing too.”

“Did you come in here to steal all those things we don’t need?” Zayn continues in his morbid tone.

“No,” Harry replies, his voice automatically taking an offended tone.

“Here, take money,” Zayn replies, taking a few steps forwards, leading them both back to the door.

“I should have written a script,” Niall mumbles, “that’s on me. I shouldn’t have trusted you to do this properly.”

“Oh come on,” Harry replies. “We’re tired, it’s the middle of the night, and this is basically how it went down.”

“I guess,” Niall sighs, putting both the ipad and the thermometer back in his bag.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” Zayn asks with a yawn. “I’m working tomorrow morning.”

“Not yet,” Niall replies distractedly, but with a firm voice, shaking his bag with a frown. “Still a bit of data we need to gather.” It takes him a few more seconds of fumbling through whatever else he’s got hidden in there, before he can take what looks like an egg beater out of the rucksack.

“Oh, not this,” Zayn whispers, giving Harry an exasperated look, before letting himself fall against the wall. He slides down until he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, surprisingly looking like he doesn’t care about what this is going to do to his clothes. “This could take a while,” he explains when he notices Harry’s puzzled glance.

“What … is this for then?” Harry asks, taking a step forward and looking at the strange object over Niall’s shoulder. “Are we cooking for the beyond?” he continues, even though he can see now that this isn’t a kitchen appliance; too many buttons and flashing lights for it to be anything straight forward.

Zayn chuckles. “I said the same thing first time he showed it to me,” he explains.

“What is it exactly?”

“You don’t wanna know, and trust me you definitely don’t want to know how much he paid for it.”

“Zayn!” Niall gasps with wide eyes. “I told you that in confidence and you promised you’d take it to the grave.”

“Doesn’t mean much if your beliefs end up being true, though,” Zayn teases, extending a leg to kick at Niall’s still squatting form. He does that a lot, Harry notices, and he wonders what it’s supposed to mean. Is it annoyance? Or something else?

“Don’t try to get out of this on a technicality, you promised!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You implied,” Niall argues, playing with the settings of his tool. Whatever it’s supposed to be.

“Is anyone going to explain to me what this thing is supposed to do?” Harry sighs, putting a stop to the bickering. He’s been in Niall and Zayn’s presence three times and already he feels like this happens a lot when they’re concerned. It’s like they can’t get through a conversation like normal human beings.

“It measures supernatural activity,” Niall replies defensively, finally getting up. “It’s quite experimental, so it’s not a hundred percent yet- ”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Zayn snorts, letting his head thud against the wall.

“A German scientist created it. And it dinged 80% of the time when there was spiritual noise in his haunted house.”

“A German fraud, you mean.”

“He’s a genius!”

“Well, that I’ll give it to you because it takes a genius to invent something so stupid and charge people that much money for it.”

“So what? If there’s a ghost it lights up?” Harry asks, biting his lower lip. He’s trying not to be judgemental, but he can’t help but side with Zayn on this one.

“Lights up and beeps. It’s pretty impressive.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So, you’ve seen it work then?”

“Well, I haven’t technically seen a full apparition yet, especially not an interactive one like yours, but I’ve witnessed plenty of EVPs before, and the Paranormeter reacted every time.”

“What?” Harry blurs out.

“EVP stands for electronic voice phenomenon.”

“No, I mean… the Paranormeter? Really?”

“It’s catchy, right? Everyone wants one. They’re in backorder right now because he makes every single one by hand. I got really lucky to get one before he got backlogged!”

“But… how does it work? How could it possibly measure supernatural stuff?”

“Does it matter?” Niall sighs, “I just know that it works most of the time, and that’s enough.”

He sounds surprisingly defensive for the first time since Harry has met him, and when he glances back to where Zayn is still casually sitting, he supposes Niall has been thoroughly teased, and judged, about this before.

“I guess if you want to get technical about it,” Niall exclaims as he starts walking back and forth in the foyer, waving the Paranormeter around, “it has something to do with the electromagnetic fields of elements not of this dimension. I can send you the guy’s website, if you want.”

Harry is too tired to understand half of the words that just came out of Niall’s mouth so he just nods as enthusiastically as he can manage and tries to stop himself from yawning, watching his new friend skipping from one end of the foyer to the other until he reaches the stairs and starts spinning on himself. The Paranormeter, however, remains silent.

“I … uh. I don’t think we’re going to find anything tonight,” Harry admits in a small voice, wondering if it would be stupid of him to say that ghosts might need sleep too. He knows Niall said the middle of the night is particularly potent when it comes to spiritual activity, but clearly the Tomlinson ghosts aren’t prone to night strolls.

“We’ve barely started,” Niall calls out stubbornly and Harry figures they are in for quite a long night.

When he walks back into the house later that morning, Anne stops halfway through taking a sip of tea to stare at his frazzled appearance.

“Hey honey,” she greets softly. “I thought you were still in bed?” she adds hesitantly, glancing at the new clock Robin installed in the kitchen. It’s barely past six.

“Don’t ask,” Harry replies with a yawn, walking straight back to his room. He doesn’t even bother changing. He just lets himself fall face first on his bed. It takes him less than a minute to fall asleep.  

*

Harry wakes up with a groan a few hours later, eyes blinking against the violence of the sun and overall vaguely feeling like he’s been hit by a car. He rubs at his eyes for a second and blindly starts looking for his phone underneath his pillows. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit and when he finally grasps it, it’s only to discover he’s out of battery. He huffs unhappily, reaching for his cable on the right side of his bed and plugging it in. He doesn’t have an alarm clock so he has no idea how long he’s actually been asleep and he’s about to walk to his desk to open his laptop and check, when he hears Niall’s happy giggling coming from downstairs.

He’s dying for a shower and a change of clothes, but he runs down without a second thought the instant Niall has stopped laughing. He bursts into the kitchen a tad too dramatically, holding himself against the door to make sure he doesn’t fall.

Niall and his mother are both sitting on stools next to the island, happily sipping what looks like tea.

“Hey honey,” Anne says happily. “Did you sleep well?” she asks and Harry a moment to glance at the clock. It’s past noon and he has no idea how long is new friend has been sitting here. “I met your friend. He told me about last night.”

Harry’s eyes widen, panic rising in his chest, when Niall starts shaking his head behind his mother.

“I told her about our little pub night,” Niall says pointedly.

“Right,” Harry acknowledges, slowly processing the situation. “I did sleep well, sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out. It slipped my mind.”

Anne waves him off. “Oh don’t worry, you’re an adult now. Of course I’d like to be told when you think about spending the night out, but I’m not going to ground you for it. I’m happy you’re making friends!”

“Mum,” Harry whines, feeling his cheeks redden. Niall snorts, hiding his face in Gemma’s favourite mug.

“I’m just sayin’. It’s difficult being new in such a close-knitted community, right Niall?”

Niall swallows his gulp before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Indeed Mrs. Twist, but don’t ya worry, we’ll take care of our Harold here.”

Harry would be annoyed but his mum beams at Niall so brightly that he can’t find it in him. Instead, he walks to the fridge and grabs some orange juice. He’s about to drink it directly from the bottle, unbothered flatmates having deleted his mother’s years of scolding, when he remembers where he actually is. He walks over to get a glass, getting the cupboard wrong three times before he finally manages. He drinks his breakfast in silence, wanting to question Niall about his reasons for crashing his mother’s morning, but not wanting to do so in front of her.

“So, what are you up to this afternoon mum?” he asks once he’s done with his juice. 

She laughs, ruffling his hair on her way out of the kitchen. “Alright, I can see that I’m not wanted,” she teases. “You could use a shower,” she adds before leaving.

“She’s not wrong,” Niall winces, pointing at Harry’s clothes from last night.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks with crossed arms, refusing to feel embarrassed.

“I wanted to check in, see how you were feeling. Also, I wanted to ask if you had time to look at the documents I gave you yesterday, but considering your dishevelled and sleepy appearance, I’m gonna guess you didn’t.”

Harry frowns. He doesn’t remember getting any documents, but he was half-asleep by the time Zayn and Niall dropped him back at the house early this morning so who knows at this point.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Niall laughs. “It’s just a couple of stuff I printed off for you, about paranormal investigation and ghost hunting. Just safety measures and types of questions you can ask, if you have an encounter… I also lend you a book. Take a look when you have time, no hurry.”

“Yet, here you are, asking me if I’ve read them a few hours after?”

Niall smirks. “You got me there. I also wanted to ask for your schedule. See if we can squeeze in some research time? Also we need to go back to the manor, keep gathering data, see if we can recreate the circumstances of your sighting?”

“My schedule?” Harry asks disbelieving. “I don’t have a job. and I don’t know anyone here apart from you. I think it’s safe to say my schedule is pretty free. Just text me whenever.”

Niall smirks. “I was hoping you’d say that. Be prepared to be busy. H.”

*

Turns out being busy for Niall includes driving down to the pub to grab enough food for a small army, before joining Zayn at the library to talk about their future plans.

“Are you sure we can eat here?” Harry asks, eyeing the food uncomfortably. They’re sitting on the floor in a pile of books and take out containers, long limbs stretched out over the old carpet.

“Not really,” Zayn shrugs, mouth full of chips. He squirms a little to take an onion ring out of Niall’s plate, kicking one of the history books they took out of the shelves in the process.

“Alright then,” Harry replies before taking a huge bite of his burger. If Zayn isn’t worried about getting fired for this, he doesn’t see why he should be in his place.

“So, clearly we need to get organised,” Niall explains. “I feel like there’s two components to our project.”

“Can’t we just eat first?” Zayn complains.

“Yeah, we can talk after,” Harry agrees, following in Zayn’s footsteps and picking food out of Niall’s plate.

Niall shakes his head dramatically in response. “We’re in a hurry!” he argues in a whine.

“Not really,” Zayn says with an unconvinced pout.

“Well, I’m excited and I’m in a hurry, so we’re doing this now. And you can listen while you eat and I explain,” Niall declares. “As I was saying, there are two components to our project. First, there’s the proof of supernatural activity, which involves a lot of work at the manor itself. Testing the spiritual electromagnetism of the place, hoping for a new apparition, recording the EVPs, etc. All the actual ghost hunting business.” 

Zayn shakes his head. 

“Shut up Malik,” Niall scolds with an accusing index.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Zayn whispers to Harry.

  
“You don’t need to,” Harry scoffs before noticing Niall’s frown. “What’s the second component, then?”

That seems enough to distract him, his forehead smoothing over as he starts talking animatedly again.

“Well, the historical research, of course!” he exclaims, gesturing to all the books laying on the floor. “Harry recognised the ghost as one Louis William Tomlinson, elder son of Lady and Lord Tomlinson, who lived in the manor until the mid twenties. Now, information about the family after the sale of the Estate is really scarce. I did some research back in secondary school and couldn’t find much. But I wasn’t as resourceful, back then. I’ve learned a lot and I have a lot more contacts now, so I think there’s a good chance we might be able to find something new.”

“Why is that important though?” Zayn asks and he doesn’t look mocking this time, just thoroughly confused.

“How can it not be?!” Niall replies excitedly. “I mean, aren’t you curious about how this man died? About his life? About the reasons why he has such an emotional connection to the manor that it’s the place he’s haunting even if it’s not where he died? Actually, aren’t you curious to know if it _is_ the place where he died? So far, he’s a blank canvas, an image that can talk to us it’s true, but not necessarily someone _we_ can talk to.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, having suddenly lost Niall’s train of thoughts.

“He appeared to you, right? You didn’t call him. He was just there,” Niall says, stating the obvious.

“I still don’t get it.” 

“We want him to appear to us, we want to have control over the situation, so we can measure things, and gain data, and prove that this is real, right? Well, if we wait for another random, lucky meeting when this posh Tomlinson lad feels like showing up, we might wait a damn long time. The more we know about him, the more we can connect, the easier it might be to bait him… Or to communicate.”

Zayn hums thoughtfully. “So, you think knowing more about him would facilitate communication?”

Niall nods quickly, excitedly. “Ghosts are emotional beings. They’re…. tethered to the human world for a reason. Maybe they’re not ready to cross over? Maybe they don’t know that they’re dead? Maybe they’re scared? Maybe they have unfinished business? Who knows. There’s a lot of theories floating around and, while I’m not sure what I believe, I don’t think it hurts to take them into consideration. Because if there’s a reason he’s still here, and we can find that reason, it might make this whole process easier.”

“You think he has unfinished business?” Harry asks, suddenly pensive. He thinks back to the handsome aristocrat, the steel determination of his gaze and the grace of his figure. He wonders what scarred him so deeply that he couldn’t move on.  

“I don’t know, but if he does it might help us to find out. And it might help us help him move on.”

“You want to find… his bruise,” Harry declares, thinking back to the stern, yet kind vibe Louis Tomlinson projected. Truth be told, Harry wants to find where it hurts too.

Niall smirks. “I want to poke it,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry clears his throat and scratches his left cheek with his fingers. “I don’t think he knows that he’s dead.”

“Then that’s probably part of what we’re going to have to talk to him about.”

Zayn exhales loudly. “Wow, that’s…” He grimaces.

“I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff anyway,” Harry replies softly.

“I don’t, but if it’s real, it doesn’t sound like a fun conversation to me.”

“No,” Harry whispers mostly to himself. He gulps, heart twisting in his chest. He’s definitely not looking forward to having to do that. If the moment comes.

There are a few minutes of silence when none of them feel comfortable with talking, the weight of their overall plans suddenly a little bit heavier as they contemplate what they might have to do. Harry pushes around a few chips in his plate, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

“So yeah,” Niall continues a bit awkwardly after a beat, “I think it’s going to be useful to know more. And you should both familiarise yourself with the documents I gave you. There’s a lot of good information about how to approach ghosts and talk to them. Questions to ask and such?”

“Right,” Harry says with a nod. He supposes if they’re going to try to actually communicate with a ghost only he saw, he might as well get ready for it. “I will. What else do you think we can do? Are these books going to help?” he asks, gesturing to the nest of knowledge that Niall gathered for them when they first entered the library.

“Mehhh,” Niall replies in a high voice. “Not really,” he admits, “I’ve read them all and it’s pretty basic stuff. A lot of them have been written by locals, as well, so they’re not exactly considered good sources. I think _you_ should read them, though. It’s a good start for someone who hasn’t lived here all their life.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You don’t seem convinced,” Zayn comments, letting himself fall onto his back, head cushioned on his arms and one leg bent.

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s just… You said yourself it Niall. We want to go deeper… So what’s the point of me reading those, if there isn’t much information?”

“The point is to get you up to date. Meanwhile, I’ve contacted the Yorkshire Historical Society and they said we could go down their archives. We just have to make an appointment. I was thinking early next week? The library is closed on Mondays and Harry you said you don’t have much going on, right?”

“Monday works for me,” Harry nods. “And I guess it will give me a bit of time to browse those,” he adds, pointing to the books.  

Niall smile before turning to look at Zayn expectantly.

“I suppose that could be arranged,” Zayn sighs reluctantly, but Harry can tell he’s smiling from his napping spot.

“Great.” Niall claps his hands and he reaches inside his bag for his ipad, writing down a note with greasy fingers. “I’ll call back to confirm. It’s about an hour away, so we should leave early if we want as much time as possible before they close. I’m also looking for local historians and historians who specialise in Stately Homes. I figure even if they don’t have information about the Tomlinsons or Hillsbridge Manor, they might know general stuff. Or have tips about research in general. They might push us towards the right resources.”

“Have you found any?” Zayn asks.

“Hum, a couple but I’m still looking. I haven’t contacted anyone yet. I wanted to talk to you guys about it before.”

“Damn,” Harry chuckles. “You’ve been really productive. I feel like we met two seconds ago.”

Niall smiles and shakes his head slightly in confusion. “Of course,” he declares like it’s obvious. “I’m excited, I want this to move forward. Isn’t that what you want too?”

“Yes! Of course. I’m just impressed,” Harry says. He waits a second before speaking again. “So, you’d want us to visit those historians, right?”

“Yeah, or talk to them on the phone, depending on their willingness and availability. Of course, we need to set aside some time to actually get back to the house too. We won’t see any ghosts if we don’t go back.”

“You don’t know that,” Zayn teases. “The Yorkshire Historical Society might have a couple of ghost archivists hidden in there!”

“Very true!” Niall giggles happily. “Still, I think we need to start thinking about how we want to divide our time between the two tasks.”

“Anything else?”

“Hummm…” Niall bites his lower lip and let his eyes roll into his head as he thinks it through. “I don’t think so,” he finally says after a few seconds, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s mostly what I wanted to say. Thoughts? Feelings? Disagreements? Anxieties?”

Zayn chuckles and Harry smiles at both of their antics. The more time he spends with both of them, the more he realises that they’re a bit quirky. Both of them. Even if it’s in completely different ways.

“I think I’m good. I mean, apart from the same old _have I gone insane and hallucinated a ghost_ anxiety, but that’s not new. And not something we can fix, unless we manage to prove Louis’ existence.”

“We’ve already proved Louis Tomlinson’s existence,” Niall argues right back, not letting Harry doubt for even a second.

“I guess, but I think you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. And we will prove it. I have a good feeling about all of this.”

“So, off to work then?” Harry declares, wiping his fingers with a napkin and grabbing a book titled _Hillsbridge History; Tales of a Small Village._

The afternoon passes in a blur as Harry loses himself in the strange anecdotes of the book, while Zayn writes in his faithful notebook next to him and Niall remains buried in his ipad, probably researching more historians. He doesn’t even notice that this much time has passed until the library’s door opens loudly and a bunch of loud children walk in, babbling excitedly.

There’s a beat of silence as the kids notice them on the floor and stare at the mess they’ve managed to create in a surprisingly short amount of time.

“Hey buddies,” Zayn calls cheerfully, getting up from the floor. “You here for homework?” he asks, bending down to clean up a few of the empty containers. “Take a seat, take seat,” he continues, gesturing towards the scattered tables with his hands full. “Gotta get those brain cells going, uh?”  

Harry scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure if this signifies the end of their meeting yet. He gives Niall a pointed look.

“Raincheck boys?” Zayn asks like it’s obvious, giving them a dirty look.

“‘Course,” Niall says, grabbing his ipad and a couple of books to check out. He snatches the one Harry was reading right from his hands.

“Heyyy,” Harry whines. He was getting lost into the thrilling adventure of a farmer whose tractor caught fire, back in the fifties. Now he’ll never know if Bernadette survived the trauma or if the man had to get rid of her.

“Do you have library card?” Niall asks.

“No,” Harry admits petulantly with an eyeroll.

“Then let me check it out for you and you can read it during the week and give it back to me on Monday.”

“I guess that works.”

Zayn checks out their books quickly while keeping an attentive eye on the children, allowing them to take twelve, bypassing the ten maximum rule that’s usually in place.

“Thanks Zayn!” Niall says in an overly cheery voice before bending over the counter and pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss on the top of Zayn’s head. Zayn scoffs and quickly rearrange his hair, frowning when Niall lets out an amused, and a tad mocking, laugh on his way out.

“Wanna keep hanging out?” Niall asks once they’ve both exited the library.

Harry is about to agree when he suddenly remembers the bike that, in his shocked and terrified state, he’s left at the manor. He keeps forgetting to pick it up and getting annoyed at having to walk everywhere. It’s not that he minds walking per se, it’s just that he knows that there is a better option for him out there. It’s still early enough that he could make his way up there and not come back at an impossible hour. He could wait until tomorrow of course, but Harry already feels like he’s trapped in a cycle of procrastination. Every time he thinks about it there’s something preventing him from going and now it’s been days and he still doesn’t have his bike back.

He’s about to offer Niall to come with so they can keep discussing their plans when he thinks better of it. He needs some time to think things through and, after all, every single time he’s witnessed something paranormal he was by himself… It won’t cost him anything to double check, and what Niall and Zayn don’t know won’t hurt them.  

“Actually, I have… stuff to do tonight. Is it okay if we hang out later?”

“Sure,” Niall agrees easily, handing Harry the books he got for him.

“Oh, I’m getting them now,” Harry mumbles to himself, staring at the tower Niall promptly drops in his arms. He flinches for a second, bicep flexing as he gets used to the unexpected weight.

Well, he supposes he’s going to have to stop by his house first. 

The impulse that makes him grab some of Niall’s pamphlets and papers about how to communicate with your ghost before leaving is completely irrational, but Harry follows it anyway. He supposes he’ll have time to look through them on his way there.

*

When he gets to the manor, Harry doesn’t go around the back straight away. He doesn’t run to grab his bike and leave. He should, probably, but the desire to poke around, to see if he might see something again is too strong. So he takes a deep breath and walks through the front door, mentally trying to convince himself that he’s not scared. Doing this without the team feels weird, but there’s a part of him that needs to double check for himself. If he sees something again, it means he’s doing the right thing.

The foyer is empty when he pushes in and he lets out a shaky exhale without meaning to. He’s not even sure what he’s hoping for here, but he keeps walking forwards until he reaches the stairs and still, there is no signs of weirdness. He climbs them slowly, expecting an apparition on every step and feeling his heart skip a beat every time it doesn’t happen.

“Hello?” Harry calls out weakly when he reaches the top.  He waits a second for a reply, hand on the railing. When his call is only met with silence, Harry takes a step forward into the corridor.

He jumps a little when he sees the man from before, Louis Tomlinson, walking out of a bedroom.  

“Oh my god,” Harry whispers, and regrets it immediately when the ghost startles and turns to look straight at him. 

His eyes widen for a second before his face becomes blasé and blank again, a mask Harry assumes he’s been perfecting his whole life.

“Oh,” the man says, sounding bored and disappointed, “it’s you again.”

“Okay,” Harry tells himself, nodding absently. This is it then. “Don’t be scared.”

The man, Louis William Tomlinson if the picture wasn’t lying, laughs, a short terse thing that almost sounds mean. “I know you’re… bigger than me,” he says, gesturing towards Harry’s shoulders and he hadn’t even noticed the differences between their two frames before, “but you’re not quite as terrifying as you might think. Not to mention I am quite apt at defending myself.”

“What?” Harry gasps, rubbing at his chest, trying to calm his breathing. It’s going to be okay. “No,” he adds, shaking his head, “I was talking to myself.”

The ghost rolls his eyes. “Well you truly are the worst trespasser, and thief, in history if you need to talk yourself into it every single time.”

“My name is Harry.”

“Alright, is this to help me file a police report later? I appreciate the warning but as a reasonable man, I do feel obliged to warn you that it might not be in your best interest to be so talkative.”

“This is the part where you introduce yourself,” Harry says, reaching inside his pocket for the little cheat sheet Niall gave him. He’s pretty sure the phrasing isn’t as awkward in Niall’s guidebook, but he’s talking to a bloody ghost so he figures his best, no matter how awkward said best might be, will have to suffice.

“If you’re here in my home with malicious intent then you know very well who am I,” Louis Tomlinson replies with an exasperated tone, and he’s not entirely wrong, technically. But the guidelines he’s skimmed through on his way to the manor clearly state that establishing contact with the spirit is very important, and how is Harry supposed to do that if they’re strangers?

“Humour me?” Harry chuckles nervously.

“What is that piece of paper you’re holding?” Louis asks, taking a step forward to try and sneak a peek.

Harry automatically takes a step back and presses it against his chest. He’s pretty sure Louis Tomlinson has no idea that he’s dead, no idea that he’s haunting this place, and while Harry doesn’t particularly want to be the one to tell him, he’d rather do it in a kinder way than by shoving a _25 Questions To Ask Your Ghost_ leaflet in his face. Besides, he’s not quite sure what would happen if they touched, and he’d like to pretend that he’s brave, and that this whole thing isn’t completely freaking him out, but truth be told, he’s terrified. He doesn’t want to find out what happens when someone is touched by death like this.

“Now this is getting ridiculous, I truly must insist that you leave,” Louis says sternly. “You can’t keep coming in here, it’s private property and if you don’t obey, I’ll have to tell the Earl and he won’t be as kind as I have been. Do you understand?”

“The Earl… your father?” Harry asks, still looking for confirmation that he’s identified the ghost properly. It is step one after all, according to leaflet Well, step one after confirming that there truly is a presence, but Harry can’t quite deny that, anymore.

Louis smirks at the question. It’s mocking and self-satisfied, but Harry can’t help the fleeting thought that it’s the first time he’s ever seen him smile. Even in the picture he had that serious, concentrating face, like he’s carrying the world on his shoulder and he can’t let it show. He looks younger like this, mischievous almost, clearly happy to have caught Harry in a lie. And it’s not like Harry hadn’t noticed that the vanishing man was attractive before, but this is different somehow, like getting a glimpse of a person underneath the apparition. Someone with thoughts, and feelings, and eyes that crinkles when he’s happy.

Harry gulps, nervously passing a hand through his hair, trying to chase the uncomfortable, anxious feeling that’s just settled in his belly.

He has to tell this man that he died. Somehow. Soon.

“So you do know who I am,” Louis says, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow at Harry.

He’s not wearing a full suit today and Harry can’t help feeling a bit surprised. He hasn’t spent a lot of his time thinking about ghosts’ specifics but he always assumed they’d be doomed to roam eternity in the clothing they wore when they passed. Yet it seems like Louis has a wardrobe, and a well furnished one at that, if the dark blue pinstriped vest hugging his chest is to be trusted. He looks expensive, from the top of his well coiffed hair, to the bottom of his polished shoes. Although, Harry supposes it makes sense if Niall’s theories about ghost appearance are correct. If Louis looks younger than he was when he died, then why shouldn’t he have a complex wardrobe?

“I had... an inkling,” Harry admits, lowering his eyes to the ground for a second before glancing back up at Louis and smirking.

“Then we’re on unequal footing,” Louis frowns, “because I have yet to know who _you_ are.”

“I just introduced myself,” Harry argues.

“Right and I should call you Mr. … ?”

“Harry,” he laughs. “You should call me Harry.”

“Well, you should call me Mr. Tomlinson,” Louis says formerly, fiddling with his clothes. “And I’ll call you “Mystery Man”, until you decide to be more forthcoming.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Trust him to get stuck with the most formal and stubborn ghost in history. “Styles,” he replies. “Harry Styles is my name.”

“Thank you,” Louis smiles, “this is going to make arresting you so much easier.”

“Oh, we’re still on that.”

“You’re a trespasser,” Louis - Mr. Tomlinson - argues, gesturing towards Harry, “where else would we be?”

Harry shrugs. “I was hoping we could be friends,” he admits with more confidence than he feels. Did aristocratic men in the early twentieth century even have friends, or just powerful connections to use whenever needed? He really should have paid more attention in school.

Louis laughs frankly then, pressing a delicate hand on his chest. “I am impressed by your forwardness, and you are a funny man, I’ll give you that.”

“Does that mean you won’t call the police on me?” Harry smirks and if he was honest with himself he’d say that he’s completely forgotten about Niall and their plans, too busy trying to see what makes Louis Tomlinson’s mask of seriousness crumbles.

“Not immediately,” Louis reveals with a raised eyebrow. “I’d rather hear your clever excuses.”

“Clever excuses?” Harry asks, pretending to be dumb.

“Yes. I have a few questions to ask you and I’d love to hear you try to answer them.”

“Sure, why not,” Harry chuckles nervously, trying to make up a story on the spot as to why he’s here again, and so strangely dressed.

“The first time I saw you,” Louis begins softly, eyeing Harry up and down, “you disappeared.”

Harry’s heart stops beating for a second. He can’t believe it. He hadn’t even considered what it would look like on Louis’ side of the story, what it would feel like for him to be speaking to someone and then suddenly not. Harry naively assumed that Louis stopped existing the moment he disappeared, but the issue seems a lot more complex than that. He needs to talk to Niall, needs to gather more information.

“I… what now?” Harry babbles nervously, stroking the back of his neck.

“You disappeared,” Louis repeats seriously, not a hint of teasing left on his face. “I saw you,” he adds and there’s a hint of vulnerability there, of confusion, and Harry is quite familiar with that feeling.

That horrible, crippling feeling like you can’t quite trust your senses or your mind anymore. Oh yes, Harry is intimately acquainted with that fear. And he’s going to abuse the _crap_ out of it.

“That sounds unlikely,” Harry replies confidently. “I mean, disappeared? I most certainly ran away, if that’s what you mean?”

Louis hesitates for a second, his face subtly shifting. “I suppose so,” he says tensely. “So you ran? Through the front door?”

Harry nods, feeling a slightly bad for trying to trick Louis like this, but he has to. He has to if he wants to break the news to him properly.

“I got scared,” he says, “thought you’d have to report me… or something.”

Louis scoffs. “Well yes, I would have. Very much so.”

“Hence the running away,” Harry replies.

Louis nods slowly, index tapping rhythmically against his chin mockingly. “Second question,” he declares. “Why did you come back then? You ran away only to break in again? I mean, why did you come here in the first place?”

And that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? How on earth is Harry supposed to explain _that_.

“I....” he starts, feeling his palms getting sweaty. He clears his throat and licks his lower lip. “I’m a photographer,” he ends up blurting after a few seconds, feeling like staying close to the truth is going to make things easier. Hopefully.

“Right,” Louis replies, looking unimpressed.

“I do…. photography,” Harry chuckles, “taking pictures… portraits, landscapes, architecture…”

“I fail to see the relevance, but do go on.”

“Your house, I mean manor, is… beautiful,” Harry explains. “I wanted… to photograph it, that’s all.”

“For a price?” Louis says, rolling his eyes like he was expecting it.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, feeling offended at the fictional scenario. “For myself,” he continues passionately, “for the art!”

“Uh.”

“It was probably a bad idea.”

“Indeed, but quite… charming,” Louis says, looking pained like the words are being ripped out of his throat without his consent.

Harry sighs. “I’m going to go,” he says, defeated.

“So quickly?” Louis scoffs.

“What?”

“You’re not even going to argue your case?”

“What do you mean?” Harry laughs awkwardly.

“You want to take photographs of the Estate?” Louis asks, raising both eyebrows at Harry and smiling when he sees him nodding in response. “Then why I should I let you?”

Harry narrows his eyes for a second, choosing to take this gamble. He’s going to need an excuse to see Louis again, anyway. “Because you’re mischievous enough that the thought of letting me do this in secret is really appealing to you.”

Louis opens his mouth in outrage for a second before chuckling. “Am I?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, “but I hope so?”

Louis inhales and gives him a pensive look before nodding. “You’ve argued your case well, Mr. Styles.”

“I have?” Harry blurts out, eyes widening. He can’t quite believe this is going to work.

“You can come back and take your pictures,” Louis declares. “When, and only when, I tell you. Where’s your equipment?”

“Oh…” Harry gasps, looking around confusedly for a second. His camera is in his bag, but he’s pretty sure even someone with no knowledge of photography would be thrown by its modern and sleek appearance. Harry doesn’t even know what photography equipment looked like in the 1920s. “I didn’t bring it because… I was hoping to… apologise. That’s all. No photographs for me today.”

“Apologise?” Louis demands, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

“Sorry, I broke into your fancy house and tried to take pictures of your things without consent….” Harry trails off, offering Louis a sheepish smile, using the dimples at his advantage.

“It will do. Both my parents are leaving the Estate tomorrow, you can come after breakfast. I’ll figure something out to tell the servants, just bring in whatever you need.”

“Perfect,” Harry nods frantically.

He’s not sure how this whole supernatural apparition works, but he has a date with a ghost. Apparently. He just needs to find an antique camera to maintain his alias. And he has less than twenty hours to do it.

*

“Are you sure you can’t do an overnight delivery?” Harry begs on the phone a few hours later.

This is the third antique shop he’s called in the past hour. So far, there’s been no luck. They’re either too far away for him to get there before closure, they don’t quite have what he needs, or if they do, they can’t assure him delivery for the next morning. Ebay has a couple of interesting models, but nothing that can get to him in time for his appointment with Louis.

The man on the phone sighs loudly. “As I’ve said the first three times Sir, we don’t do delivery. And even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to do it so fast. I’m sorry, but if you’re still interested in the camera, I can save it for you and you can pick it up at your convenience, that’s not a problem.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I need it tomorrow morning. It’s an emergency. I’m in Yorkshire, is there any way we could make it work?” Harry begs. “What if I come pick it up? Are you still going to be open?”

“We close in fifteen minutes and you’re two hours and a half away,” the man replies slowly, like Harry is an idiot for not getting it.

“Right,” Harry gulps and shakes his head. “Sorry, I won’t bother you any longer.”

“I guess, if you don’t mind the drive I could stay a little later today, get ahead in the inventory.”

“Really?” Harry asks, disbelieving. “You’d really do that?” It’s getting late already and the thought that there’s someone kind enough to do this for him is a bit insane.

“It seems important,” the man replies, “so I suppose I can make an exception.”

“Sir, you have no idea how much this means to me! Thank you so much! I’m leaving straight away and I’ll be there as fast as I can!”

“Alright son,” the man snorts, “don’t get overexcited, and drive carefully.”

“I will, of course I will. Thank you so much Sir, you just saved my life!”

The man laughs again. “Well, if I can help.”

“You are helping. So much! You have no idea! I’ll see you soon!” Harry babbles before hanging up and dancing a little around his bedroom.

He starts picking up his charger and his wallet, grabbing a green sweater just in case it gets cold on the way back before stumbling down the stairs.

“Mum!” he yells as he takes the step two by two. “Mum! I need to borrow the car!”

“I’m in here Harry, no need to yell,” Anne replies from the living room, a glass of white wine in her right hand and _Eat Pray Love_ in the other.

Harry figures she’s already on her second reread, marking up stuff for the Book Club, because there’s no way she’s been this slow. The book has been glued to her hands for days now and she seems to have barely made any progress.

“What do you need the car for?” she asks, looking confused.

“I have an errant… thing,” Harry replies vaguely, unsure how he’s supposed to describe _this._

“And you can’t take your bike?”

Harry grimaces. “If you want me to come back after Christmas, sure.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just a few towns over,” Harry replies defensively. Okay, it might be a little bit more than that, but she doesn’t need to know every detail. Besides, she said so herself; he’s an adult now. He can do what he wants.

“Why?”

“There’s this…. Camera thing that I need and this guy is selling it for a really good price but he wants to get rid of it straight away. It’s kind of my only shot. There’s a lot of demands, I’m lucky enough he agreed to wait for me,” Harry explains quickly, clumsily, hoping she won’t ask for any details. “So, can I take it?”

“When will you be back?” she demands after taking a small sip.

“Late, probably? It’s a few hours away, but this place is so small even if you need to get out of the house surely you can walk? Please?” he begs, smiling wide enough for his dimples to pop and blinking prettily.

“Alright then, the keys are on the hook in the hallway, but drive safe and text me at some point so I know you’re alive.”

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you,” Harry whispers as he reaches down to hug her, pressing a big kiss on her cheek.

*

Harry is about to stop for gas and snacks on his way back from the antique shop, when his phone starts ringing. He frowns and takes the next exit, thinking it might be his mother starting to get worried. He left the shop a bit later than he expected, after spending some quality time with the owner discussing his impressive collection of vintage photographs and cameras. He actually had to stop himself from buying the whole store, the temptation surprisingly hard to resist despite his limited budget. In the end, Harry managed to control himself and only buy the early 20th century camera he had begged the owner to save for him. It’s functional and apparently easy to use, two of the most important things for him. Still, after an hour of of babbling with the kind owner, Harry found himself on the road much later than planned. Even though he texted his mum to warn her, he wouldn’t be surprised that she’s the one calling him to fuss a little.

He reaches for his phone once he arrives at the petrol station, his eyes widening when he realises he has a missed called from Gemma. He distractedly fills the tank before calling her back as he enters the station and starts looking for something to snack on. She answers after one ring, her voice impatient.

“Finally!” she exclaims instead of saying hello. Straight to business.

“Hi to you too,” Harry replies with an eye roll, grabbing a bag of crisps before moving to the drinks section.

“Yeah, hello, hi, whatever. You’ve been MIA. I’m spending every night looking shit up online for you and you vanish? Not cool bro.” 

Harry snorts. “I hardly think I’ve disappeared,” he replies, amused by her antics. 

“I’ve been looking into Mr. Anonymous, trying to find the deeds of property and stuff… And you haven’t even replied to my texts about it!” she argues and if he remembers correctly, she sent him one text to say she couldn’t find anything. Hardly something substantial.

“Did you find anything?” Harry asks knowingly, grabbing a bottle of water. 

“I did not,” Gemma says quickly, sounding annoyed. “And you would know that if you’d paid attention to me.”

“I do know that,” he laughs, walking to the counter to pay. He mouths an apology to the teenager managing the register, hating to be on the phone while she rings him up. “I saw the text you know.” 

Gemma hums thoughtfully and Harry assumes she’s frowning, disappointed that he hasn’t been in touch. She’s not saying anything, but he knows she’s probably curious as to why he hasn’t been as chatty as usual.

“Well then?” she asks like he’s supposed to know what she means.

He pushes the door open and makes his way back to the car in silence, trying to find the best way to explain what has been happening in the past few days. It seems strange to think it hasn’t even been a week since he met Niall and Zayn, that it hasn’t technically been a week since he saw Louis Tomlinson for the first time. So much has happened in so little time that Harry has whiplash. His life isn’t the same as it was last week. It’s completely different, in fact, and nothing like he expected. Hillsbridge has been full of surprises for him so far, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to explain that to his sister. He can’t exactly tell her he’s joined a ghost hunting club without risking ridicule, and while he’s not afraid of a bit of ridicule once in awhile, this would be too much even for him. She wouldn’t understand.

“Oh come on, spit it out. Did you get tired of it? You know, just because the project was my idea doesn’t mean you’re bound to it. If you found something better to do, or if you have a job now, you don’t have to ignore me!” She’s speaking quickly, trying to appear nonchalant, but Harry can tell she’s getting upset that he hasn’t kept in touch. It’s only been a few days, and some would call them codependent, but the truth is that Gemma is his best friend and always has been. 

Harry sighs a little, unlocking the car and sitting down. “It’s not that at all,” he replies gently. “Quite the opposite. I just… I’ve been busy, that’s all. And to be honest… the nature of the project has changed, a bit,” he adds slowly, measuring the impact of each word.

“Changed?” Gemma says while Harry starts the car and puts her on speaker phone. “Are you doing finger paintings of the place?” she asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.  

“Very funny. No, I just… I made some friends, and they thought the project was cool and wanted to get involved.”  

Gemma whistles, sounding impressed. “Without mum’s help? Good job.”  
  
"Fuck off," Harry laughs in response as he gets back on the motorway.  
  
"I'm serious!" Gemma giggles. "You did good."  
  
"Well, they're interested in...." Harry hesitates, unsure how honest he should be. "history? So we've been looking for information about the family that lived there in the 20s, to try and see if there's survivors that could tell us more about the place."  
  
"Mr. Anonymous might know!" Gemma yells, all excited again. "If I ever find him," she adds thoughtfully. “I was thinking about using my journalistic connections.”  
  
"You write an opinion column online it’s not exactly investigative journalism.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, it’s great! Obviously! We all know you’re the success child right now -”

“Harry,” Gemma whispers sadly, and he’s not in the mood for a lecture; too tired after a long day and a long drive.  

“I just meant that it’s not exactly the same,” Harry explains, ignoring her compassionate interruption. “Besides, he's not the one who bought the property from the family.... Isn't that what you said?"  
  
"Sure, but nobody buys a creepy manor without doing some research. Surely he, or she, knows something!" Gemma insists.  
  
"Huh, that's actually a good point."  
  
"Well, I do make those once in awhile," Gemma teases without heat.

“Alright, well… Tell me if you find anything?”  

“I will if you start answering the phone!”

“It was a few days when I was busy, don’t try to spin it like I’ve been ignoring you,” Harry says sternly. 

“Still,” Gemma argues. She waits a beat before asking: “How are you feeling?” in that some soft and careful voice his mother uses when she thinks he’s been wallowing in self pity.

“Gemma -”

“No. Stop it. Stop trying to avoid it. You’ve had a rough summer, it’s no use pretending. Every time I try to ask, you brush me off, but I know you’ve been sad. It’s okay to be sad, you can tell me. You don’t have to act like it’s not there.”

“I’m not sad…” Harry argues, but it sounds fake even to his ears. He waits a second. “I feel stupid,” he finally admits in a small voice and it’s not really something he was planning on telling anyone, but here, driving in the dark, he can’t help himself. And it does feel like a weight just lifted off his shoulders.

His confession is met with silence. He waits for a beat, eyes fixed on the passing signs, body tense as he anticipates Gemma’s response.

“That’s it,” he finally adds after the silence has gone on too long. “I feel bloody stupid because I should have seen it all coming… I did see it all coming. And it still struck me down.”

“Harry,” Gemma starts carefully, “feeling like your relationship wasn’t going well or that your internship wouldn’t work out and actually having to deal with both of those things are extremely different. It doesn’t make you a stupid person for having hope.”

“I wasn’t even in love with him anymore,” Harry whispers, feeling his eyes starting to water. He blinks quickly, hoping to get rid of the tears, trying to stay focused on the road. “It’s so fucking stupid to be this upset.”

“It’s _not_ stupid to be sad. Endings are rough, and grieving things is the most normal process in the world, so stop putting yourself down or…. Or I’ll come up there to give you a talking to. And you really don’t want to deal with me when I’m cross.”

Harry laughs and, for a second it feels like maybe it’s going to be okay, before he starts sobbing, shoulders shaking as he tries to keep his blurry eyes on the road.

“Oh H,” Gemma says softly and that only makes him cry harder.

He manages to stop on the side of the motorway despite the tears and he lets his head drop on the steering wheel when he does.

“It’s okay,” Gemma says softly and he closes his eyes, trying to imagine that she’s actually there, rubbing his back soothingly. “Let it out, Haz.”

“I just…” Harry tries to say, but he sobs again. “It just felt like everything was ending, and everyone else had something starting except for me.”

“I know, honey."

“God,” Harry says shakily, before taking a deep breath. He straightens his back and wipes his eyes with a closed fist. He needs to get a grip and drive himself home.

“Are you okay? Can I do anything?”

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbles, reaching for his water bottle and taking a few gulps. “I’m just tired and I still have at least a 45 min drive until I get back home.”

“What? Where are you?” Gemma asks, sounding confused. Harry supposes he conveniently forgot to tell her, just like he conveniently forgot to mention the ghost.

“I went to this antique shop a few towns over… Long story,” he explains with a sigh, putting the bottle back on the seat and taking his phone instead. He takes Gemma off speakerphone and presses it to his ear.

“You weren’t driving while you were crying. were you?” Gemma asks threateningly.

“‘Course not, I pulled over.”

“Alright. Good. Are you okay to drive home? Can you get someone to pick you up?”

“I’m fine,” Harry repeats with a sigh. “Honestly, I can drive myself. Besides, I have the car so it’s not like mum or Robin could come and get me. And I’m not calling an uber in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, if you’re sure you’re okay…”

“I’m going to be, eventually,” Harry replies.

“And you’re sure there’s nothing I can do?” Gemma insists, concerned and a bit pushy.

“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do… I’m just a bit… sad… humiliated. It’s nothing, it’ll pass.”

Harry doesn’t mean to sound dismissive, but there’s not much to do except for him to try and keep busy, to try and not think about the whole thing. In a way, potentially seeing a ghost has been a blessing. His frighteningly empty calendar has started filling up, making him feel better about the whole thing. Or at least making him forget about it temporarily.

“You don’t have any reasons to feel humiliated. I know you can’t control that and if it’s how you feel, it’s how you feel. But please know, you don’t have any reasons to feel humiliated. Now drive safely and please text me when you get back to Hillsbridge, otherwise I’ll worry.”

“Of course. And I’ll update you about the research. We’re going to the Yorkshire Historical Society on Monday, so hopefully we’ll find something interesting there.”

*

The next morning, Harry wakes up bit too early, the mixture of nerves and excitement meaning he’s alert more than an hour before his alarm. He searches through his clothes quickly, looking for some sort of trousers that don’t look too modern. He knows his black skinny jeans have been suspicious from the start and the last thing he wants is to appear unconvincing. He didn’t drive ages in the dark to buy an antique camera with money he doesn’t have to be betrayed by a pair of jeans! It takes him a while, but he does manage to find a pair of black slacks that aren’t too tight or too fancy, suited for the role he cast himself into. He silently grabs a white shirt from Robin’s closet, careful not to wake anyone, and he adds his comfiest grey sweater to complete the look. He doesn’t have a tie that’s not too wild, either because of the pattern or the colours, so he decides to skip it entirely. He’s pretty sure “vintage Harry” isn’t the kind of man to trouble himself with fancy dress anyway.

After breakfast, Harry grabs his new camera and its case as well as the films he purchased from the antique shop, putting it all in the basket of his bike. It’s bit cold this early in the morning, but Harry’s only jackets are his denim and an old leather one his father owned in his early twenties. Neither of them are quite suitable for the period he’s trying to emulate, so Harry shivers as he climbs on the bike, determined to make his way to the manor despite the discomfort.

He takes the slightly longer route that leads to the main gate instead of the other, trying to be as polite and respectful as possible. If Louis Tomlinson is expecting his visit, the least Harry can do is be mindful and not trespass on his property. Again.

By the time he finally reaches the front gates, walking next to his bike for the last bit of the hill, Harry is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even see the serious figure standing near the open gates. He startles when he looks up and finally notices Louis, letting out an accidental gasp that makes the ghost smirk slightly in the corner of his mouth.

“Mr. Styles,” Louis says seriously, bowing his head slightly with both of his hands clasped behind his back. He’s wearing yet another three-piece suit, looking expensive and ridiculously alive. If Harry didn’t know better, he would think him real, would try to shake his hands or touch his carefully sculpted cheekbones.

As it is, Harry simply nods back and leaves his bike next to the gate. “Mr. Tomlinson. Thank you for having me.”

“You’re welcome. My father and mother have previous engagements on Wednesdays, and I’ve asked the servants to make themselves scarce, so, if you want, we can start with a short visit. We shouldn’t be bothered. Then you can decided what you’d like to photograph in particular. You could come back next Wednesday for it. If that’s a convenient time for you,” Louis declares instead of asking, gesturing towards the front door a little further away.

Harry nods. “Yes, that sounds perfect,” he agrees, fumbling for his camera’s case in the basket before passing the strap through his head, letting it rest comfortably against his hip. He had been a bit worried about finding a way to come back, to get Louis to agree to him visiting again, and he can’t quite believe it was as easy as this. He can’t quite believe it was handed to him on a silver platter. It seems a bit too easy maybe, a bit too simple, but since he got what he wanted without even having to ask, Harry isn’t going to start questioning it. He can’t wait to tell Niall he has a date with a ghost next Wednesday. Hopefully, he won’t be mad Harry grabbed this opportunity without telling him.

He follows into Louis’ footsteps, trying to think of what type of questions he should start with instead of worrying about what his team is going to say. He needs to know when Louis is from, or when he thinks he’s from. According to all of Niall’s pamphlets and books,  ghosts can take corporal forms from any moments of their lives, from birth to death, depending on what is keeping them tethered to the material world. Or something. Harry is still fuzzy on the details. 

One thing is sure, he needs to learn more about the family in general, as well as the house itself. How and when it was sold? Why? Anything that can help localise the reasons why Louis might be haunting the Estate. Apparently, it’s what proper ghosts hunters do. Niall’s books describe it as an investigative process that allows the hunter to paint a complete portrait of their target. But it’s only with fully corporeal apparition that it’s suggested. Sometimes, it’s not worth it only for EVPs. Harry isn’t sure how people evaluate what is needed exactly, but he supposes he doesn’t really have to worry about it, since they have a fully corporal ghost anyway.

Harry lets his gaze fall as he follows the curves of Louis Tomlinson’s body while he pushes the door open. He’s very corporal indeed and aristocratic in more than his name and title. Future title? Past title? Harry isn’t quite sure how he’s meant to be referring to it with the dead man so realistically standing in front of him that way. 

“Well Mr. Styles,” Louis begins after he closes the door, “welcome to Hillsbridge Manor.”

Harry glances at the now familiar foyer and he takes a second to wonder what Louis sees when he looks at it. Beyond the dust and mould and the half fallen tapestries, beyond the years of disuse and abandonment… He’s seen a couple of pictures in the library books Niall borrowed for him, but it wasn’t enough for him to get a clear idea of what the Manor might have looked like at it’s prime. It was enough for him to get a tiny glimpse, a vague sensation, but still not the full scope of what Louis Tomlinson’s world encompasses.  

Harry supposes he’ll just have to ask with as much subtlety as he can muster.

“Where do we start then?” he asks, giving Louis his biggest, most enthusiastic smile.

“In here,” Louis replies, pointing towards a closed door that Harry knows hides one of the many drawing rooms. For a second, Harry fully expects him to walk through the door like magic, like he isn’t there at all, but when he grabs the handle, Louis pushes it open easily before walking in. It’s puzzling and partly destroys every single expectations Harry has, but he tries not to question it too much as he walks in behind Louis.

“This is one of five drawing rooms throughout the manor,” Louis explains as they walk in. “It’s nicknamed the Red drawing room.” 

“But the tapestry is blue?” Harry asks, eyeing a spot where it’s completely falling apart. It’s dark blue, or it used to be, at least, as far as he can tell from the pieces of walls that haven’t been damaged too much.  

Louis chuckles and Harry startles, looking back at the man with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Well,” Louis begins, licking his lower lip and looking delighted. “Back in the 1800s, one of the family cousins hated its colour so much that she made a bet with the current Earl that if she managed to defeat him at cards, she would get to pick the new tapestry. The Manor wasn’t that old at the time, it actually replaced a much more modest house on the Estate, so the Countess, my great-great-grandmother, was rather furious to have her taste questioned like this.”

“Did they name the room after the colour the cousin wanted? As a compromise? I don’t understand?” Harry scoffs before shrugging. He’d always known the aristocracy lived by a different set of rules, and that big Stately Homes have a bizarre history of their own, but knowing and understanding are vastly different. And Harry can’t pretend that he understands

“Oh, the cousin won!” Louis replies happily, like it’s obvious, and he’s starting to look animated, like all it took for his serious mask to fall was to start talking about his family and its history. “Which is why the room is blue. They call it the Red drawing room because my great-great-grandmother saw red every single time she set foot in it.”

Harry lets out a loud squeaking laugh before putting a hand in front of his mouth, trying to remember his manners. “Sorry,” he mumbles, voice muffled by his hand as he tries to stop laughing.

“It is rather amusing,” Louis admits with a chuckle. He gives Harry a piercing side glance. It makes him shiver a bit uncomfortably, but he doesn’t break eye contact, determined to stay brave and see this through. Harry lets it go as long as Louis wants, trying not to think too hard about the fact that it feels like Louis can see through him easily, that it feels like he can read his very soul.

He’s wondering if maybe it’s a ghost thing, if maybe being dead gives him that ability to be so unsettling and intense, when Louis speaks again.

“This is where we entertain guests of various importance after dinner,” he starts explaining, walking around the room. “Or if my father needs to meet with someone privately it can function like an office. He has a desk here and in the library, as well as one in his bedroom upstairs.”

Harry isn’t sure why Louis is giving those irrelevant details, but as long as he keeps talking and Harry keeps getting information, he’s certainly not going to complain.

“Your father needs three offices?” Harry asks, tone a bit disbelieving and angling for more details about the Earl’s way of life.

“I don’t think it’s question of needs,” Louis replies with a small frown, “but rather of comfort. He’s a busy man whose days are filled with tasks relating to the caring of the entire Estate as well as various projects in the community. If he needs to work, my father likes to have different places to do so to suit his moods.”

“Of course,” Harry says automatically, a bit scared he’s offended the man and that he’ll vanish any second now. “I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

“Right…” Harry nods, eyes going from one corner of the room to the other, trying to take it all in. It’s not much to look at with the states it’s in, but still. He has to keep playing his part. “What does that entail though?” he asks, mentally trying to remember his history lessons. “Taking care of the Estate?”

“We’re the biggest employer in the region, the Estate is the home of hundreds of people. It’s a machine that needs constant attention to ensure it’s running smoothly. Running the Estate involves employees, tenants, agriculture and all the tools that requires, not to mentions the livestock.”

“So, it’s like a big farm?” Harry mumbles, half to himself.

Louis simply laughs. “You’re not from around here, aren’t you? The country, I mean.”

“What makes you think that?”

Louis shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable. He avoids Harry’s gaze as he replies. “You look like a city boy, with your camera and your wide eyes.”

Harry bites his lower lip, looking for a good way to answer this. Technically, he was raised in a small village, but he supposes Louis isn’t wrong in assuming he’s not from around here. And he did recently spent four years studying in Manchester. He’s pretty sure that’s enough to make anyone a city boy in Louis Tomlinson’ eyes.

“You got me,” Harry shrugs with an exaggerated sheepish smile. “I’ve always heard about those Big Houses, but I never fully understood them,” he adds, and it’s not even a lie.

“The Manor, the Estate really, is not a farm.”

“I know that!” Harry exclaims. He’s about to further justify himself when Louis gives him a dark, silencing look. He closes his mouth and gulps.

“You have just admitted to your lack of knowledge in those affairs, the polite thing to do would be to let me explain them to you properly, since I’m offering. Don’t think I do this for every common thief that walks through the doors, unannounced and unwelcomed.”

Harry would think Louis was really angry, if it wasn’t for the twinkle of excitement in his eyes as he stares at Harry with a raised eyebrow. He’s having fun, Harry thinks vaguely, looking at Louis’ poised figure. After such a lonely existence stuck in limbo, in the in between, Harry can’t exactly blame him for enjoying a bit of company. Though he might not even realise he needs company, what with the fact that he’s not even aware that he’s dead.

It’s enough to make Harry’s head spin and he finds himself shrugging helplessly. “Of course, I’m very grateful you’ve opened your home and offered your knowledge,” he stutters a little, trying to get a grip. “I know I didn’t deserve it.”

“Good that you’re grateful, but there’s no need to look so tragic,” Louis replies, fiddling with his clothes. “So, as I was trying to explain, we’re not a farm at all. However, many of our tenants do farm our land. My father and his agent overlook everything.”

“I thought…” Harry hesitates for a second.

“Don’t look so scared,” Louis says with a laugh. “Whatever offensive thing you’ve thought of, I’ve heard it before. I can assure you.”

“I just didn’t think most Country Houses’ owners were, I mean are, working so… hands on. I thought that’s what you have employees for.”

Louis nods. “Ready to continue?” he asks, pointing to the door. “This is a big house and if you want the full tour to start planning your… project, we better keep moving,” he adds gesturing towards Harry’s camera.

“Sure.”

“We do have employees to help with the managing of course, but my father is very involved and so will I be when I inherit the title and the Estate. We don’t sit around doing nothing, you know,” Louis explains as he walks Harry towards the door he knows hide the dining room and the beautiful chandelier.

“I love this room,” Harry whispers as he walks in and he knows he must have a dumbstruck expression on his face, but it’s so gorgeous he can’t help himself. Even through the dust, it’s a magnificent display of architecture and refinement.

“Made yourself familiar with the place, have you?” Louis says teasingly as he turns on his heels to face Harry.

“Hum… I’m… It’s just… The door was open when I… I know I have no excuse, but -”

“Don’t hurt yourself too much trying to explain that one, Harry Styles. You were making your way to the bedrooms upstairs, last I saw you in here; I’m not expecting this visit to be all new things for you.” 

“Still, I just…”

“Wanna hear the story of how the family got that chandelier? ” Louis offers as he starts walking again around the table. He seems so light and so fast, fingers dancing on the edges of the beautifully carved chairs, dust trailing after him like a halo. He seems both there and not there, and Harry could swear sometimes he can see right through him, like he’s not fully corporal, flickering between existence and… something else.

It’s disconcerting, distracting, enthralling, and Harry can’t get enough.

“It’s quite a masterpiece, and it takes the staff two days to clean every pieces,” Louis adds nonchalantly, like that’s not a crazy piece of information. Harry can’t imagine dedicating two days of his life to polishing every single crystal.

“I want to hear every story,” Harry admits, still wide-eyed. “This place is amazing.”

“Yes,” Louis replies fondly, and he sounds a bit sad for a second. “It’s been in the family for generations. Through Kings rising and falling, through wars and financial troubles…. Births and deaths. The Tomlinsons have lived on this land since the late 15th century you know.”

“I thought you said the house was new in the 1800s? How old is it, specifically?” Harry asking, hoping Louis will take the bait and give him more information on the period he believes he’s still living in.

“Well, the house is relatively recent, compared to other Stately Homes. The construction to improve the old house that was there started in the late 1790s. 1798 if I remember correctly. Eventually, the work was too demanding and the Earl at the time wasn’t satisfied with the architect’s modifications. He wanted something a bit… more, I suppose. So they changed for a very renowned British architect and he tore the entire thing down and rebuild it all according to his, and my ancestor’s, vision. So the house itself is only a little over a hundred years old.  The land of course is different. We’ve had it for much longer. There’s actually a chapel in the woods a few miles away that belongs to the family and was built around 1650. 

Harry chuckles lightly. “Like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit,” he says, thinking back to all the anachronistic things he’s seen in the manor so far, all the different periods of history blending into one.

“Au contraire!” Louis protests in flawless French, hurting Harry’s soul. “This place has a precious history and every single thing here is right where it should be. It all fits together quite perfectly if you ask me.”

Harry exhales, heart skipping a beat at the thought he might have offended Louis again. He wants to know more though; he has questions on the tip of his tongue. He knows precisely what he’d ask if he were braver or if he knew Louis better. He can’t ask though, not now, not yet. Still, the questions taunt him.

 _Where do you fit in?_ _Why are you still here? Everyone else is gone...._

But Harry doesn’t say anything. He just nods like he can begin to understand the magnitude of history a manor like this can hold.

“Everything in here, everything on the land, is my family’s history. There’s nothing that couldn’t fit properly,” Louis says and for a second Harry thinks he sounds bitter, but his face is soft and pensive like he truly means it.

“No black sheeps?” Harry asks, unsure if he should insist or let this go. Niall did say they were trying to find where it hurts. “No forgotten cousins, or ancestors, that shamed the family beyond belief?”

“No,” Louis replies darkly, leaving no room for protestations, “and there never will be.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Harry says easily with a shrug.

“Well it’s the truth,” Louis insists shortly. “Now, do you want to hear about the chandelier or not?”

Harry agrees quickly, realising this is not the button to push, at least not today, and he lets himself be transported by a story involving the king of Spain and a racy affair featuring one of the youngest daughters of the 5th Earl. The details make Harry believe that Louis was definitely not being honest with him about the family having no black sheeps or skeletons in the closet, but he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it, too busy laughing at the enthusiastic way Louis Tomlinson is telling this story. Harry is pretty sure it’s a well rehearsed one, a story Louis uses to entertain friends and family, but he doesn’t sound boring or too well prepared. The words just flow out of his mouth as he gesticulates and explains how the family acquired the incredible chandelier.

Two hour later, they’ve visited all the rooms on the ground floor and Harry doesn’t think he’s laughed this much in weeks. Louis is so effortless despite his clearly rigid upbringing; he moves gracefully through the corridors and the rooms, delighting Harry with some wild family tales and adorable stories about his younger siblings. As time passes, Harry can see the way his shoulders relax and he settles into himself, the perfect heir’s mask slowly slipping. It’s barely moved, but Harry is starting to glimpse the person beneath and it’s intoxicating. He only wants more of Louis’ stories and of Louis’ world. Every word out of his mouth makes him even more curious.

They’ve reached the hall now and the main stairs when Louis stops. “I can’t take you up there Mr. Styles, unfortunately.”

“You should really call me Harry,” he replies. “And why not?”

Louis shakes his head in discouragement, but there’s still a small smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Because it would be inappropriate first of all, you’re not a guest staying in this house therefore you have no business in the bedrooms. Not to mention, I’ve bribed my oldest sisters into staying out of the way, but I think parading you in their private chambers might be too much excitement for them to keep quiet. I love them dearly, but they are a talkative bunch.”

“And you’re not?” Harry teases. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t said three words since they left the dining room, too busy listening to Louis’ nonstop chatter and anecdotes.

Louis opens his mouth and huffs, offended, before shaking his head. “Well, I suppose that’s fair. All I’m saying is, I would rather my parents weren’t made aware of this … meeting and my sisters won’t keep their mouths shut if they know I invited some strange photographer in our house.”

“It’s fine. The visit was fun, thank you.”

“Oh, we’re not done,” Louis frowns. “You still have the grounds to visit, and the greenhouse, the stables, maybe even the chapel if we have time before my parents come back.”

Harry’s smile grows with each listed items. He had no idea there was a greenhouse, or stables, and now he can’t wait to see them.

“Where are your parents, exactly? You never said.”

“I know,” Louis confirms, walking back towards the front door.

“If I’m overstepping you can tell me, you don’t have to act all mysterious about it,” Harry calls after him before shaking his head. He sighs, looking one last time at the dusty and mouldy hall, before running after Louis.

“You overstepped by walking in without knocking that first time, Mr. Styles,” Louis says without heat.

Harry snorts. “I suppose I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?”

Louis simply smiles and walks out into the sunlight. It’s a beautiful day for late september, a bit chilly but not a cloud in sight and Louis looks beautiful bathing in the sun as he waits for Harry to join him.

“My parents are out on business if you must know. Mama is on the local hospital board. They’ve been meeting almost every Wednesdays for years now,” Louis explains as he starts walking around the house, towards where Harry knows is the servants’ entrance.

“What about your father?” Harry asks.

“He’s on the War memorial committee. They put a small monument up in the village back in 1921, but now it’s three years later and they want to expand it. They’re talking about including a garden, so that it could really be somewhere for people to peacefully remember our boys’ sacrifices. Rather than just a statue in the middle of the village, you know?”

“Oh,” Harry says quietly, dread settling in his belly. He reaches for his hair, passing a nervous hand through it. “Did you… I mean…. Were you over there?” he asks in a small voice before clearing his throat. He wishes he had more eloquence to discuss this, but he’s not sure how carefully he should thread. The Great War has always been nothing but a sad page in his history book, and now he’s talking to someone who probably has been personally affected by it one way or another. He wanted to pinpoint the exact date Louis thinks he’s from, but now that he actually knows, he’s starting to regret having his wish granted.

Louis frowns before shaking his head. “Of course not,” he says slowly, hesitantly. He looks really confused as he gives Harry a long once-over. “I was too young.”

“Right,” Harry nods, feeling foolish. “Of course, same. I mean, me too. Too young. I mean, I’m only twenty-one now, so of course I was too young ten years ago,” he babbles he notices Louis’ puzzled expression. He closes his mouth and gulps.

“Anyway, that’s why both my parents are absent at the moment,” Louis says, pretending like Harry hasn’t spoken at all. “And here is the garage,” he adds, pointing at the building Harry has already seen, but never entered. “ Although, it’s a bit boring and I don’t see why you’d want a full visit. Unless you’re a car enthusiast?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not particularly. Do you drive?"

Louis laughs. “I know how to, if that’s what you’re asking. But I try not to, if I can avoid it.”

“Not posh enough for you? Need a driver to legitimize yourself as a member of the upper class?”

“Actually, if you must know,” Louis says in an exasperated voice as he walks past the servants’ entrance and away from the house, “I’ve been told my driving is abysmal and that I’m a danger not only to myself, but the entirety of England.”

Harry bursts into laughter, unable to resist with the way Louis is visibly pouting, looking petulant and annoyed. “Harsh,” Harry declares solemnly once he’s finally managed to calm himself down. 

Louis scrunches his nose adorably. “But true, I’m afraid,” he admits reluctantly. “What can I say? I like to go fast.” 

“Who thinks you’re a poor driver?”

“I’d say mankind as a whole,” Louis replies with a grimace, “but that England comment was made by my dearest sister Charlotte. Suffice to say, I never offer to drive her to York anymore. She can manage by herself.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“Oh don’t be fooled, she looks angelic, it’s true, but she has a viper’s tongue and is twice as smart as anyone you’ve ever encountered.”

“Sounds like my kind of woman,” Harry says jokingly, thinking the description could easily apply to his own sister. The two of them would have probably gotten along well, he figures. With the way Louis is describing her, she sounds both lovely and fierce, just like Gemma is.

He doesn’t realise he’s said something he shouldn’t have at first and it’s only when he looks at Louis’ offended face and his stormy eyes that he thinks back on the inappropriateness of his comment. 

“No!” Harry exclaims before Louis has a chance to speak. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he repeats over and over again, quick and shaking his head non stop. “Definitely not like that.”

“Listen,” Louis says firmly, stopping Harry’s mantra. He’s clearly struggling to keep his voice level and if looks could kill Harry truly believe he would be long dead. “If this whole thing is some sort of a scheme of yours to seduce one of my sisters, I can assure you that they’re smarter than you think you’re being and none of them could easily be fooled by some pretty eyes and a strong jaw.” 

Harry frowns and reaches up to touch his face, stroking across said jaw. “I’m really not.”  

“None of them are set to inherit this place, for your information. In order to ensure the survival of the Estate, I am my family’s sole heir, so you’ve set your eyes on the wrong women.”

“I swear, I’m really not interested in -” Harry stops himself just in time, before making the mistake of saying _in women_. 1924, he reminds himself. “I have no intentions at all towards your sisters. None. I promise. I know you don’t know me and that probably means absolutely nothing to you, but you completely misunderstood what I was trying to say. The way you described her reminded me of my own sister, that’s all. She’s also a very fierce and clever lady and we’re quite close.”

Louis’ face softens. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Her name is Gemma,” he offers with a shrug. “She’s older than me.”

“I’m the eldest,” Louis reveals even though Harry already knew.

“I assumed. As the sole heir?”

“Well, an older sister wouldn’t be the heir, but I don’t have one of those anyway.” 

“That hardly seems fair, that women can’t inherit at all.”

He knows it has something to do with sexism, and carrying the family name, with a dash of not wanting to divide ancestral lands between children, but Harry still thinks it’s incredibly stupid.  

“A lot of things are hardly fair, Mr. Styles. If there’s one thing the war taught us, it’s that,” Louis says before stopping a few hundred meters away from the house. He stares at the emptiness of his backyard, putting both of his hands on his hips. “Here it is,” he says proudly.  

Harry raises a questioning eyebrow at him, as he looks onwards at the grass and the bushes and the trees.

“The stables,” Louis explains, pointing at the vast, big, fat nothing. “Here, I’ll introduce you to my favourite,” he adds, pushing against the air like there’s a door.

Harry’ eyes widen as he watches Louis make his way around what he firmly believes his the stable, making soft noises and petting the air.

“This is so weird,” Harry mumbles to himself, scratching at his left cheek.

“Are you coming?” Louis asks, still busy petting an imaginary horse.

Harry tries not to giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” he replies, running to where Louis is.

“This is Olivia,” Louis explains, voice soft and eyes shining with pride.

“Your favourite?” Harry asks even though he clearly doesn’t need to.

“She’s a good girl, the only one I ride to be honest.”

“You don’t trust the other horses?” Harry asks, pretending to look around and observing the other “animals”.

“I just like her best. We’re a team and we’ve been a team ever since she was little. Isn’t that right, lovely?” he says, pressing a kiss in the air.

“She’s… beautiful,” Harry replies, trying to sound sincere. He can’t wait to tell Niall about this. He’s going to be fascinated by the juxtaposition of the ghost’s reality with Harry’s. Harry doesn’t know shit about this stuff and doesn’t understand it at all and _he’s_ fascinated.

“Yeah,” Louis whispers tenderly, the soft smile on his face making his eyes crinkle.

“Do you ride a lot?” Harry asks, trying to make conversation that doesn’t involve him having to pet or talk to anything he can’t see.

“Not extremely frequently,” Louis admits. “Mostly when we have big parties staying at the house, although I’ve been known to take my girl out once in awhile when I feel like it.”

He says the last part seemingly just for her, voice going higher as his face smoothens with fondness. It’s a bit troubling to see when there’s nothing there, but Harry can’t help his heart skipping a beat as he witnesses this unexpected side of his supernatural host. He’s been in turn severe and condemning, but also playful, and now tender. It’s a lot to take in for someone who expected the same angry young man Harry first met. A lot of the books Harry has been browsing claim that ghosts can sometimes be manifestations of a single emotion the deceased couldn’t process during their lifetime. Which is why so many of them are unwelcoming and hostile. They’re anger personified, an echo of someone’s suffering. As Harry watches Louis go through so many moods and emotions, so many facets, he can’t help but feel like that theory is complete and utter bullshit.  

“Do you want to pet her?” Louis offers after a few seconds of silence, dragging Harry away from his thoughts and questions.

“Hummmmm,” he replies, high pitched and nervous. _Fuck_ , he thinks quickly, eyes widening.

“Are you scared of horses, Mr. Styles?” Louis asks, looking a little bit too delighted at the prospect.

“Yes,” Harry says, adopting the excuse happily. “Very much so. Nasty beasts. They terrify me.”

Louis smirks and shakes his head. “City boys,” he sighs disapprovingly.

“Not everyone can have stables and riding lessons available to the snap of their fingers.”

“I guess not.”

“Can we go?” Harry asks with a shiver as the wind rises suddenly. He folds his arms across his chest, hating the fact that he doesn’t own a historically neutral jacket. 

“You really don’t like them, do you? You haven’t looked directly at Olivia since you’ve come in and you’ve barely glanced at the other horses.”

“What can I say?” Harry shrugs easily, cheeks dimpling.

“Alright then, I’ll take you out of here safely. We can visit the greenhouse instead. Assuming you’re not scared of plants?” Louis asks teasingly as he starts walking towards the “door”.

Harry follows in his exact footsteps, scared to mess up and walk through a wall.

“Can your plants crush me to death?” he asks cheekily as they start walking even further away from the house.

“No, but neither would my horses and you’re still scared of them,” Louis replies automatically with sparkly eyes, unfazed by Harry’s banter.

“It’s not really a question of if they would or not, just knowing that they could is enough to make me wary.”

Harry has nothing against horses, of course. He’s enjoyed riding one the one time he had an opportunity as a teen, but now that he’s started arguing with - and teasing - Louis, he can’t seem to stop. It’s easy and fun, and it’s almost enough to make him forget that Louis is not really there, that he’s long gone.

It doesn’t take very long for them to reach the greenhouse and Harry is relieved to see an actual building standing there. He’s not bad at going along with this thing, but pretending he can see whole buildings is not something he particularly enjoys.

It looks like a small glass castle, Harry can’t help but think when he first glimpses it. It’s not very high, but it’s long, a little labyrinth that twists and turns. It’s obviously seen better days. Every panel of glass is either broken or dirty beyond recognition, so much so it’s hard to see inside. When Harry can actually see through, it looks more like a jungle than a gentleman’s greenhouse. Though he supposes it makes sense since the manor has been abandoned for so long.

“Who was it then?” Harry asks, pointing at the greenhouse.

“Who was what?” Louis asks, stopping just as he was about to walk in.

“Which of your colourful ancestor had a passion for plants? I doubt it’s just something every Big House has?”

Louis purses his mouth, clearly trying to stop himself from smiling.

“My grandfather,” he replies slowly, still trying not to laugh, “if you must know.”

“He built this?”

“Not himself, obviously, but yes. He… invested a lot in this little thing. Millions of pounds in exotic plants and gardeners’ salaries. Almost bankrupted the family until my grandmother put her foot down and started keeping an eye on him,” Louis explains as he walks in.

“Wait, really?” Harry asks, bending down to avoid being hit in the face by a wild branch while Louis is distracted and isn’t looking at him.

“Oh yes. He was obsessed with plant breeding and making new species. There’s actually a variety of bluebells named after him.”

“Incredible,” Harry mumbles.

“Well, yes and no considering it almost cost us the Estate.” 

“Oh, I thought you were joking about that bankrupt thing,” Harry says, bending down to smell an orange flower that has blossomed despite confinement and lack of care. 

“We never joke about money around here Mr. Styles. My grandfather was indeed quite the eccentric and his… passion almost ruined us. But then again, he’s not the first Tomlinsons to put the family in trouble. The Fourth Earl’s second wife had a terrible gambling addiction. She was in so much trouble she begged everyone to lend her money, even the heir to the throne at the time. The family survived it, but she wasn’t remembered fondly.” 

Harry shakes his head as he listens to the story, half enthralled and half baffled.  

“Imagine being important enough that you can just write to the King so he can lend you a few pounds,” he says with a laugh.  

Louis shrugs. “It definitely wasn’t just a few pounds and it was the heir to the throne, but yes I suppose that sounds rather ridiculous for someone … like you.”  

Harry raises an eyebrow at Louis’ evident hesitation. “Someone like me?” he asks just to see him squirm.  

“I meant someone who isn’t close to the Royal Family,” Louis replies diplomatically.  

“Indeed,” Harry laughs. “I’m starting to think you lied to me about your family having no black sheeps. You’ve barely mentioned your ancestors and already two of them were wild and almost ruined you. Seems like every Tomlinson had a hidden vice that almost led to your downfall.”  

He wonders for a second which one of them is the one who succeeded, which one of them was responsible for the inevitable collapse of this place. If it’s Louis like he suspects, maybe the reason why he’s still here is more straightforward than Harry initially feared.

Louis doesn’t answer straight away. He turns away from Harry, eyes focused on the plants as he walks through the greenhouse, his back stiff again, any traces of the playful man from before erased as he closes himself off. 

“I was just-” Harry starts saying, trying to justify himself.

“Every human being on this planet has a vice that could lead to their downfall,” Louis says pensively, interrupting what would have surely been a babbling apology.  

Harry sighs. “I suppose that’s true,” he whispers. “What about you?” he asks teasingly, hoping to coax Louis out of his shell again. Clearly, criticism of his family if off limits, but banter between the two of them seemed acceptable earlier. “What are you threatening the Estate with?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows when Louis turns to face him.  

“Nothing,” he snaps, but he doesn’t looking angry or guarded. “My vices are none of your business and they certainly won’t affect the Estate,” he adds, almost like he’s trying to convince himself.  

Harry blinks, a bit shocked. “Of course not. I’m so sorry. I’m a stranger and here I am judging your family… It was an inappropriate question, I apologize,” he says sincerely. 

Louis gives him a calculating look before chuckling darkly. “Yes, you can still come take your pictures next Wednesday, don’t worry.”  

“That’s not what I was worried about, but thanks.” Harry waits for a beat before asking: “Were you close to him?”  

“My grandfather?” Louis asks.  

Harry nods.  

“Not particularly. He was… much more severe as he grew older. He would lecture a lot about responsibility and the Estate’s role in the community. I think he regretted putting Granny in such difficult conditions for a while there. They had to reduce the staff at the Manor and they even sold one of their smaller propriety. He made a couple of good investments in the end which mostly fixed things, but I think he was still very disappointed in himself for his youthful mistakes,” Louis explains as he starts walking again, this time slow enough that they can go through the greenhouse together.  

“It’s seems like a shame,” Harry comments, careful not to let their shoulders brush together, keeping a safe distance between his body and whatever it is that Louis is made of.  

“What do you mean?”  

“It was his passion, right? The one thing he loved most in the world?”

Louis gulps, slowing a little. “I suppose so.”

“It’s just a bit sad that he regretted it, is all. If he loved it so much. This place is beautiful and it’s part of your Manor forever. Doesn’t seem like a waste to me,” Harry says with a shrug. Even in its decrepit state, the greenhouse remains beautiful. A bit twisted, but intriguing like the rest of the manor and part of a story Harry is only just starting to unfold.  

“Of course you would think that,” Louis says softly. “You’re an artist.”  

“I don’t think that’s why I think that.”  

“No?” 

“I just… we’re not here for very long,” Harry explains, feeling his throat close up as he gets a bit too close to the truth of Louis’ situation. “Seems foolish to me not to take pride in the things we love, considering.” 

Louis chuckles before shaking his head. “Yes, you are such an artist.” 

Harry huffs. “Whatever.”  

“It’s a bit too much of a romantic view for me, but I see what you mean. And I do love the fact that my grandfather left his mark on this place, like all of his ancestors before him and like I will. Hopefully.”  

Harry is about to ask a few more questions when his stomach grumbles loudly, reminding him he hasn’t eaten anything since his smoothie this morning. He feels his cheeks redden in embarrassment and coughs in his elbow to try and disguise the noise.  

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Louis says, fumbling through his pocket and taking out a small round watch, eyebrows furrowing when he reads the time. “It’s way past lunch time, I can’t believe how quickly the morning went. My parents should be back soon, but I could ask someone downstairs to make you a sandwich for the ride back to the village.”  

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry replies, definitely not in the mood to eat imaginary food.  

“Please, it’s the least I can do, I’ve been a terrible host,” Louis insists, walking them back to the exit.  

“No, of course not. You’ve been more welcoming than I deserved. I’m not going to eat your food as well.” 

“It’s not a problem, there’s plenty to spare.”  

“I can get my own food,” Harry protests a bit too loudly. He sees Louis nodding absently, and he probably thinks it’s a question of pride or something like that, but as long as Harry doesn’t have to make believe again, he doesn’t care how Louis justifies his reactions.  

“Of course.”  

They make their way to the front gate in silence, walking side by side, a few steps away from each other.  

“Thank you so much for the visit,” Harry says, when he finally reaches his bike. “Your home is lovely.”  

“You’re welcome,” Louis replies sternly. “You’ll be back,” he adds a bit more softly, yet still firm. He has the tone of someone who is used to having his own way and he’s definitely not asking.  

Harry smiles. “Next week,” he confirms. “Wouldn’t miss it. I have too many pictures to take.”

*

The rest of the week passes in a blur. Harry doesn’t meet up with Niall or Zayn, too busy reading all the books and pamphlets he’s been instructed to consult, and if he uses that as an excuse as to why he hasn’t said anything about his two new meetings with Louis, well, that’s nobody’s business but his. 

By the time the next Monday comes around, Harry has talked himself out of admitting what he did to his new friends about a million times, even though he knows he’s only derailing the investigation by keeping quiet like this.  

It’s just… him and Louis have made tentative contact now. They’re not friends exactly - Harry is not sure he can be friends with a dead person - but they’re friendly and he has permission to explore the Manor and ask nosy questions. Sort of. He’s not sure how that’s all going to come together with Niall and Zayn getting involved, is all. What if they want to come with? Will Louis even be able to see them? Will they be able to see Louis? How would he even explain them to Louis? It all seems messy and complicated, and maybe it’s immature and pointless to try and avoid it, but Harry can’t help himself. He’s hoping by the time he admits the whole thing, he’ll have figured out a plan to make this simple.  

He’s still anxious about it, half asleep at 5AM, while he gets ready for their day at the YHS. Niall and Zayn should be here any second, now. They were both very insistent that they needed to get there as soon as it opens, or at least Niall was, and with a couple of hours needed to drive there, it means Harry still can’t sleep in.  

He’s busy eating cereals half heartedly when he hears a long dramatic car horn that can only mean that Niall has arrived. Harry chuckles to himself and takes two large bites, finishing his bowl and putting it in the sink. His num hates when he leaves dishes around like this, especially since they have a perfectly working dishwasher, but Niall keeps calling for him and Harry fears if he doesn't get out of the house quickly, they’ll wake the whole neighbourhood.  

The horn doesn’t stop while Harry puts his converses on, and he’s about to grab his jacket when a figure appear in the staircase.  

His mum frowns, hair wild. “Honey, I’m really happy you made friends so quickly, but if that boy doesn’t stop this cacophony, no one will ever find his body. Understood?” she says threateningly. 

Harry chuckles as he puts his jacket on. He salutes her with a cheeky grin. “Yes M’am.”  

Anne rolls her eyes before waving him off. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too!” Harry replies before locking the door behind him.  

He turns to look at Niall’s beat up car, putting both of hands on his waist.  

“Was this necessary?” he asks, looking at Niall’s amused face. 

His window is rolled down and he has one arm dangling from it, fingers tapping rhythmically against the car, looking like someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit. Big, funny grin included. 

“Can’t you knock like a normal person? My mum was about to murder you,” Harry adds as he approaches the car. 

“That would require him to be a normal person,” Zayn mumbles from where he’s cuddled up against the window of the passenger seat. “Unfortunately, as we both know that ship sailed a long time ago.”  

Harry snorts, fumbling with the door. “Well, that’s true,” he says as he sits in the back seat.  

“You guys are so rude, I come bearing gifts and you treat me like this,” Niall sighs loudly.  

“Gifts?” Harry asks, puzzled.  

“The gifts are a trap.” 

“Zayn is an idiot, ignore him,” Niall says loudly, pinching Zayn’s shoulder through his leather jacket. “Here,” he adds, grabbing a travel mug and handing to Harry. “I made tea.”  

“Oh, thank you Niall, that’s so nice.”  

“Trap,” Zayn repeats ominously.

“Am I missing something?” Harry asks as he puts on his seatbelt with one hand, the other holding the purple YPGHS mug.  

“Not at all!” Niall says happily, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning towards Harry. “You can keep the mug by the way, I have a dozen,” he explains as he reaches for the lapel of Harry’s jacket.  

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, sitting still and eyeing where Niall’s finger are playing with his rainbow pin.  

“This is the trap part,” Zayn declares grumpily. “He put a hole in my leather jacket.”  

“S’not even a real one will you stop acting like a baby!” Niall sighs. He raises his hand to show Harry a tiny pin featuring a cartoonish ghost. “I ordered them online last week, we can all match!”  

“Cute,” Harry says with a shrug as he watches Niall put it on his denim jacket next to his flag.  

“Predictable,” Zayn snorts and Harry twists his head a little, trying to see where Niall pierced Zayn’s precious jacket. He’s surprised to see he’s actually wearing the pin, that despite all of his loud protest he hasn’t taken it off straight away. Maybe he’s humoring Niall for the day, or he’s simply too tired to do anything beyond dozing off against the window.  

“At least Harry appreciates all the trouble I go through for the team.”  

“Shall we go?” Harry asks, knowing that there’s no stopping them once they start bickering.  

“Yes!” Niall exclaims, starting the car and putting on the radio loudly.  

It doesn’t take very long for Harry to fall back to sleep.  

“Hey.” 

Harry is pretty sure there’s someone shaking him. He’s not sure why, but it’s rather irritating and he groans, curling into himself. 

“H! Hey! Wake up buddy!”

“No,” he groans again, eyes tightly shut.  

“We’re here and they’re opening in five minutes,” the voice he now recognises as Niall’s says.  

“We got you a muffin,” Zayn adds and Harry opens his eyes sleepily, tempted by the thought of food.  

“Okay, okay. I’m definitely up,” he says with a yawn. 

He’s a bit shaky on his legs as he gets out of the car and he passes a hand through his hair, hoping it’s not too wild.  

“Your hair isn’t too bad,” Niall says reassuringly before handing him his muffin.  

“If you’re going for the bird nest aesthetic,” Zayn adds teasingly and Harry blushes as he turns around to look at himself in the car window. He fumbles with his fringe for a few seconds before deeming it acceptable.

“Mine was unsalvageable,” Zayn declares, pointing at the beanie now on top of his head. “Never seen it so flat. I blame Niall, obviously.”  

“To be fair, you blame Niall for everything,” Harry replies through a mouthful of his second breakfast.

Zayn grins knowingly. “He deserves it.” 

“I am right here, you know.”  

“Come on, Ghost Hunter,” Zayn says, grabbing Niall by the arm, “let’s go see what history can tell us.” 

History, it turns out, is not as forthcoming as Harry would have hoped. 

“Well, this is disheartening,” Harry sighs, as he clicks on yet another article from the Yorkshire Historical Society database.  

They’ve found a couple of related, interesting, things and they’ve printed the relevant articles to browse later, but all in all, the day has been mostly clicking through unrelated bullshit, and trying a billion different keywords hoping to find a match.  

“Who said the road to answers was easy!” Niall says happily as he reads an engagement announcement for a certain Lily Tomlinson that is clearly not related to Louis and his family. Or if they are, it’s rather distantly.  

They did manage to find an old version of the family tree in the database, a 1926 document, and while it doesn’t show most of the daughters’ marriages, and therefore doesn’t help in their search to find out what ultimately happened to them, it’s a start.  

Harry glances down to Louis’ name, his heart fluttering as he thinks back to his meeting with him, to his obvious love for his family and his teasing attitude.  

“If we could find one thing about what happened to any of them after the manor was sold at least…” Zayn sighs, closing another useless document.

“It would help to know when Louis thinks he’s from as well,” Niall comments absently. “That’s probably when something really important happened, if it’s not actually when he died, you know.

Harry looks back to the printed family tree. Louis wasn’t dead in 1926, according to this document. And his ghost thinks he’s in 1924, if what he told Harry is true.  

“Yeah,” Harry agrees half-heartedly, clearing his throat as he erases his latest search to try something else.

“We should go back to the Manor,” Niall continues, blissfully ignorant to the inner conflict that just resurfaced within Harry. “If you could talk to him again, maybe you’d be able to guess.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says vaguely, knowing he’ll have to tell them about meeting up with Louis again eventually, but not knowing how he wants to approach it either.  

“Can we go at a normal time though?” Zayn demands. “I have to wake up early.”  

Niall rolls his eyes. “But ghost activity increases at night.” 

“I don’t know if he’s that kind of ghost though,” Harry argues. The only times he’s seen Louis is during the day. He’s not sure how it works with other sighting and apparitions, but it seems his ghost is definitely not a nocturnal one.  

“Alright, I suppose we could try at a normal hour if you both insist.

“We do!” Zayn says. “We really, really do.”

“I think I found something!” Harry exclaims, eyes widening as he looks through the document hungrily. 

“What is it?” Niall yells, getting up from his chair so fast he makes it fall to the ground in a loud thud. He ignores it, and the employee sitting at the front desk’s angry look, skipping happily to Harry’s computer, almost climbing over his back to read over his shoulders. “Oh my god!” he says excitedly once he reads Félicité Tomlinson’s name. “That’s one of Louis’ sister!” 

“Is it?” Zayn asks, joining them both and pushing against Harry’s back too. 

He’s almost folded in two over the desk, breathing loudly through his nose. “I can’t breath,” he wails in a dramatic voice, feeling his cheeks heating when the employee shushes him loudly. 

Niall giggles before grabbing the mouse from Harry’s hand and printing the document. He finally walks away from Harry to get to the printer and Harry sighs loudly, straightening his back in the chair. 

“Died in 1996?” Zayn reads the death certificate out loud, then grimaces. “Well, she’s not gonna help us find out what happened to Louis and the manor.” 

“No, but it’s a great first step!” Niall whispers when he comes back, the printed certificate clutched tightly in his hand. 

They don’t find much more that afternoon, but by the time five o’clock comes around and the society closes its doors, Harry feels like they’ve at least amassed enough articles and documents to truly start their research. Hopefully, once they’ve carefully read through it all, they’ll have information that will help them narrow down their focus. 

* 

“I saw Louis again,” Harry blurts out as they’re leaving, unable to keep it to himself any longer. If they’re gonna truly research this, he needs to be honest. 

The tires screeches as Niall breaks abruptly and Harry tries to hold himself to the seat when his body moves forwards without his permission under the strength of the car halting to a stop. Harry can’t hear it, but he’s pretty sure Niall gasped loudly too, what with the way his face looks so startled, lax with shock as he turns around in his seat to stare at Harry. 

“What the fuck?” Zayn exclaims. “When? How?” 

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Well, the first time-” 

“The first time?!!” Zayn interrupts. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” 

“I’m telling you now!” 

“When was this?” 

There is a beat of silence as Harry lowers his gaze. 

“Last week,” he admits with a small shrug. “When we went to library? I walked back to the manor and he was there. I told him I was there for a photography project, which isn’t technically a lie. He was suspicious I think, but then he said I could come back to take pictures when his parents aren’t home on Wednesdays.” 

“Oh my god!” Niall yells excitedly. He’s looking at Harry like he’s just offered him the whole world, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

Zayn still looks annoyed, but he hums pensively. “That was actually smart, the photo thing,” he admits reluctantly. “If he actually exists-” 

“He does!” Harry argues firmly. If anything, those two meetings and the bits of research they’ve done have strengthened his belief that Louis Tomlinson is a real person. He still doesn’t understand how it’s possible for him to see him, but Harry isn’t confused anymore about the reality of what he saw. 

“If he actually exists,” Zayn repeats slowly, “it’s a good way for you to gather information without freaking him out. I mean… we can’t just spring it on him that he’s dead, we’re going to need a strategy, a way to help him… move on. In the meantime, that’s a great cover.” 

“Thank you,” Harry replies, trying to hide the surprise in his tone. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts at all?”

Zayn sighs. “I don’t,” he insists, “but it doesn’t change the fact that if this is for real, and we manage to prove it, we need to help the poor sod. We can’t just let him rot there forever after Niall finds what he wants.” 

The thought sits uneasy in Harry’s belly and he shakes his head, trying to get rid of the image of Louis, beautiful and noble, alone and haunting that place forever. It seems wrong. 

“That’s true,” Harry agrees. 

“So, are you going back there? What happened exactly after you told him about the photos thing?” Niall asks, impatient, insistent, cheeks red and wide grin on. 

“Well, I told him that’s why I trespassed and he gave me permission to come back,” Harry shrugs. “Then, when I did, he took me on a tour of the house and the grounds and said that I could come back next Wednesday to start actually taking pictures. He’s from 1924, by the way. That’s what he thinks. And he sees the manor as it was back then. I had to pretend to see a whole building that’s not there anymore.” 

“Oh my god, really?” Niall says quickly, voice getting higher. “That’s so amazing.” 

“Yeah, it was weird, but kind of fascinating. Anyway, the family tree shows that he was still alive in 1926, so I don’t think there was any trauma that year that could explain why he’s stuck in that mentality.” 

“A trauma doesn’t necessarily mean death though, it could be a number of thing. We still haven’t found the exact details of the sale, it might have something to do with it?” Zayn argues, fingers stroking his left cheek. 

“He… does find the Estate extremely important,” Harry admits, thinking back to the defensive way Louis reacted when Harry implied he could have a vice terrible enough to ruin it. “He’s really scared of being the one to ruin things for them.” 

“He told you that?” Niall asks. 

Harry shakes his head. “Not in so many words, no.” He licks his lower lips. “It was more of a vibe, you know? He was talking about some of his… crazy ancestors and the things they did that could have made them lose the house, he was very defensive of it. Didn’t like the implications he could do the same.” 

“We’re onto something here. When are you going back?” 

“Me?” Harry asks, surprised Niall isn’t insisting that they come along, that he isn’t offended that Harry went by himself and that he hasn’t said anything so far. “You… don’t want to come?” 

“Of course, I’d love to see an actual ghost. I want that more than anything in the world, but you’re the one who’s established contact with him, you’re the one he trusts. We can’t mess that up. Especially since you have such a brilliant cover for now. No, no, no. You can keep visiting him and gather information to bring back to us, while Zayn and I focus on the research part.” 

“What about the proving the ghost is real part?” Zayn asks, a teasing smile in the corner of his mouth. 

“It will come,” Niall argues. “So, we’re going to need to work on your look,” he continues, looking back at Harry. “If Louis Tomlinson thinks you’re from the 1920s, we need to make sure you look the part.” 

Harry’s eyes widen and he feels himself smiling without meaning to. “Oh, I took care of it! I bought a vintage camera, it’s sick. I’ve been playing with the settings this week, I’m not fully comfortable with it yet, but it’s so cool,” he explains quickly, giddy at the thought of his new toy. 

“Of course, the only thing you’d think about is a bloody camera.” Niall shakes his head as he mutters before turning back in his seat and starting to drive again, finally exiting the parking. 

Harry pouts. “I got some old trousers too and borrowed one of my stepdad’s shirt." 

“Amateur,” Niall whispers. “We’re going shopping tomorrow,” he declares loudly, leaving no space for argument.

“Don’t you ever work?” Harry complains for the sake of it, even though he knows Niall does a billion little things for everyone in the village,  including some maths tutoring and helping out at the grocery store whenever he has a minute. He’s made it pretty clear from the start that he has as flexible of a schedule as Harry’s. 

“Don’t try to talk me out of it! You need a Ghost Hunting wardrobe.” 

* 

“What about this?” Harry cackles as he puts on a faux fur coat and pouts in front of one of the mirror in the aisle of the charity shop Niall dragged him to. 

Niall snorts and gives him a thumbs up before continuing to browse, grabbing yet another generic pair of trousers. They’re terribly boring, but Harry supposes it goes with the character he is trying to sell himself as. He can’t exactly show up to the manor wearing bright colours or tight jeans, and his old black slacks can only get him so far. 

“Zayn would look great in that coat,” Niall comments absently. 

Harry smirks. “Would he?” he asks, fishing for information, wondering if Niall will let anything slip about the quite undeniable sexual tension lying under their evident disdain for each other. 

“He looks good in anything,” Niall continues, eyeing a pair of grey trousers for a second, looking at the waist size before glancing back at Harry and nodding to himself. “It’s very annoying,” he adds then he puts the trousers with the others. 

“So I don’t look good in it?” Harry asks, teasingly, and when Niall looks at him again, he flutters his eyelids exaggeratedly. 

“Will you take this seriously? You need to convince Louis you’re legit, this is important! We need to find you some shirts and maybe a couple of waistcoats, and definitely some new shoes,” Niall protests. 

Harry sighs loudly, pouting with his lower lip sticking out, before taking the coat off. “Honestly,” he says with an eyeroll, accent thicker with annoyance, “ I did just fine with Louis. He totally believed me.” 

“What shoes did you wear?” Niall asks insistently as he walks away from the trousers, basket looped through his arm. He stops in front of the shirts and hums as he starts flipping through them quickly. 

Harry doesn’t reply, a bit embarrassed by the answer. Instead, he starts looking at the ties all bundled up together near the counter. The shop is tiny, only three proper aisles, but with things piled up to the maximum. 

“Harry,” Niall says slowly, voiced half panicked. “Please tell me you wore good shoes.” 

“I wore my converses, okay!” 

“Oh my god, you…. amateurish fool. See, this is why you need me. You should have called me the second you agreed to meet with him again.” 

“I know,” Harry says softly, rubbing a emerald green tie between his thumb and his index. 

“The second you said yes! Literally that moment!” Niall continues, putting a few white shirts and undershirts in the basket. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…” Harry trails off. 

“I’m not mad,” Niall clarifies. “I just think, if we’re doing this together, we need to do it together. And that converse thing is the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

“Well, technically they existed in the 1920s,” Harry argues with a laugh. “I did check!” 

“For basketball players in America, not poor photographers in Yorkshire,” Niall laughs. “Jesus!” 

“We’ll buy shoes, I get it. And you were right, not telling the team wasn’t cool. I was just scared ‘cause it felt like I was building a connection with Louis, and I didn’t know how you were going to react and if you’d want to come with and ruin that, you know?” Harry explains, trying to ignore the confused face of the woman managing the till, who has clearly been listening to their conversation from the start. He grabs the green tie, and two black ones, before joining Niall a few steps away. 

“I get it.” 

“You’re really not mad?” Harry asks, hesitantly. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Of course not,” he declares with a small huff. “What about this?” he asks, teasingly, grabbing a fedora from one of the shelves to their right and pushing it on Harry’s head, efficiently ruining his hair. 

Harry pushes it off with the tip of his fingers, making it fly backwards before it falls to the floor with a small thud. “I’m aiming for struggling artist, not Irish mafia!” he says eyebrows furrowed, but his lips are twitching as he tries to hold back a smile at his own dig at Niall’s ancestry. 

“O-kay Mister,” Niall replies, putting his hand up. “So, Leo Dicaprio in Titanic, right? Dashing, romantic lead?” 

Harry huffs as he turns around and bends down to pick up the fedora. “I’m not a dashing romantic lead!” 

He squeaks when Niall smacks his bottom lightly with a cackle. “‘Course you’re the dashing romantic lead, who else would it be? Me?” he says with a grimace. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m the lovable nerd who is right about everything and makes everyone laugh until they piss themselves, sooooo.” 

“If anyone is the romantic lead it’s Zayn,” Harry argues, still trying to see if he’s going to rattle Niall about it. He stares at him for a beat, hoping he’ll start blushing, before continuing. “I mean, he’s dark and brooding? Amazing cheekbones? Eyelashes for days?” Harry counts them all on his fingers. 

Niall passes a hand through his hair and clears his throat. “Well.” 

“And that leather jacket? Honestly that’s a James Dean vibe if I’ve ever seen one,” Harry continues, pretending to be impressed. 

“What?” Niall replies in a small voice. “You like him or something?”

Harry bursts into laughter. “Really not. He’s kind of an arsehole. I mean, he’s funny, but not my type. Don’t worry, not stepping on any toes. Besides, I just got dumped and fired, I’m definitely not looking for anything. Hence, why I’m not the dashing romantic lead.”

Niall looks like he’s about to protest for a second - probably the toes comment, Harry suspects - then he shakes his head and points towards a wall of shoes.

“I guess that just leaves Louis,” he says, going on his tiptoes to look at a pair on the top shelf.

“Louis for what?” Harry asks, looking at the black shoes. They seem a bit old, scruffy in places, but he supposes it fits the part.

“As the dashing romantic lead, duh. I mean, he’s rich and connected, and according to the pictures he has amazing cheekbones, too.”

Harry hums, thinking back to Louis’ ethereal look when he exited the manor and stepped into the sunlight. Dashing is definitely one word for it. 

“Also very dead,” Harry points out, eyes widening. He bends down to unlace his shoes quickly, taking them off and grabbing the ones Niall was holding. 

“Okay, so it’s a romantic drama, not a comedy. Can’t have everything.” 

“Well, considering you wanted me to be Leo in Titanic, I’d say it was drama from the start,” Harry argues. “I like these,” he adds, twirling on himself in the shoes. 

“This is starting to look like a solid wardrobe,” Niall agrees with a nod. “Ready to try the rest?” 

Harry looks down at the pile of clothes that is starting to spill over the basket. 

“Let’s do this.” 

* 

“Are you sure you’re a photographer?” Louis asks the following day, arms folded across his chest as he watches Harry fumble with the antique camera with a stern look. 

Harry gulps, feeling sweat dripping down his back underneath his new shirt, waistcoat and jacket. He plays with his collar with one finger for a second, unused to being so dressed up, before he looks up and smiles tightly at Louis. 

“Yes,” he replies as lightheartedly as he can manage. “I’m sure.” 

“It’s just you’ve been playing with that camera for five minutes now and you still haven’t taken a single picture of the library.” 

“You can’t rush art,” Harry whispers through gritted teeth, trying to remember how this machine from hell is supposed to work. He’s done dozens of tests after buying and still, shaky with nerves, he can’t seem to make the damn thing work when it matters. 

“Is it the library?” Louis singsongs. “Not inspiring enough for you?” 

“The library is fine, I just … I need to think about the composition of this picture and your staring is making me nervous.” 

“Oh,” Louis says defeatedly. “Do you want some time alone?” 

“No!” Harry yells, looking up from the camera with wide eyes. Way to defeat the entire purpose of his visit! “Please, stay. I enjoy talking to you. I’m just not used to… photographing places like this, that’s all,” he explains, making it up on the spot.  

“What do you usually photograph?” Louis asks, taking a step closer, face subtly shifting. He looks curious now, eyes sharp and piercing.

“People,” Harry replies honestly, unable to look away. The camera lays uselessly in his hand. “Just portraits mostly,” he adds, trying to make up a career that sounds plausible for the previous century. “Families, you know? People’s babies.” He stays silent for a second. “I love babies.” 

That makes Louis smiles genuinely, the careful mask slipping off once again as his eyes crinkle. “Do you have any?” 

“What?” 

“Children,” Louis explains. “Do you have any?" 

Harry giggles. “No,” he replies with a small grimace. “I mean, not yet,” he adds, remembering most people started their families a lot earlier at the time. “What about you?” 

Louis gulps. “No. I have baby siblings, though. The youngests, they’re two years old. Twins, a boy and a girl. They’re delightful. I spend a lot of time with them actually, whenever I can. I think Nanny thinks I’m a bit weird, but I can’t help it.”

“Is Nanny the one raising them?” Harry asks, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the idea. 

“I can see by your beautiful grimace what you think about that, but that’s what families like ours do,” Louis explain in a neutral tone. 

“You disapprove though.” 

“What makes you think that?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs, not sure how he’s supposed to explain the feeling when Louis has been looking so closed off since the nanny was first mentioned. He can’t, he supposes. It’s just an impression and he doesn't think he’s wrong. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” 

“I just don’t like seeing them once in the morning, once for tea and once to say goodnight, you know? I like spending time with them, they’re funny and sweet.” 

“You can do differently with your own then,” Harry declares happily. “When the time comes."

Louis smiles politely, distanced and detached. “I doubt it.” 

“You doubt you’ll have children?” Harry asks, camera completely forgotten as he turns to fully face Louis. 

“Of course I’ll have children, I need an heir to pass the title on to,” Louis replies dismissively. “But, I’ll be far busier than I am now when I’m fully in charge of the Estate, and I’m already quite a busy man, so I doubt I’ll be able to be the black sheep you seem so convinced our family needs.” 

Harry snorts. “That’s not what I meant, but I suppose I see your point of view.” 

“I guess I like spending time with my siblings while I can, before…” he trails off, fidgeting with his shirt for a second. “Anyway, are you taking your pictures now?” 

Harry stays still for a second, wondering what Louis stopped himself from saying, before he nods. He manages to make the camera work on the first try this time, taking a few photos of the library, of the old books and the dusts, while Louis looks on.

“Uh, so you actually do know how it works,” Louis teases.

“I told you, I am a photographer. I just don’t like being watched while I do it, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you unattended in this house Mister, you could do anything.” Louis waits for a second before speaking again. “Where are you from?” he asks, walking around Harry to sit down in an armchair that has seen better days. 

With one glance, Harry knows that it would break under his weight if he tried to do the same, but Louis weighs nothing, is barely there at all. He sits down and the dust doesn’t even move, doesn’t flies around him like it would anyone else, and even though Harry knows what Louis is, and more importantly what he isn’t, it’s unsettling to witness. It’s a reminder that no matter how real he seems, no matter how many stories he tells and how many emotions flicker on his face, Louis is not there. Not really. 

“Where I’m from?” Harry repeats, confused that the conversation seems to have settled around him, Louis’ focus and curiosity both pointed, leaving him almost no room for the very serious and important questions Harry is supposed to be asking. Things like how the Estate’s finances are doing and what he thinks could be traumatizing enough for him to refuse to move on to the next level, whatever that entails. Things like if he remembers how he died. That’s what Niall said Harry should focus on, but he supposes they should work up to it. 

“Yes, where are you from? You’re not from the village, I would know you, and you don’t seem to be staying there at all,” Louis explains, one finger distractingly moving up and down his own thigh, an hypnotizing movement that forces Harry to repeat Louis’ sentence to himself a few times before he can fully process it. 

“Have you asked around about me?” he says, incredulous, torn between flattery that Louis is curious enough about him to inquire, and fear that his lie will be caught. 

“Of course, what did you think? That I’d let you roam freely without a little bit of research?” 

Harry shrugs. To be honest, yes, he definitely did. 

“No one has heard about you, at all. I’ve found a few Styles’ here and there around the country, but you seem like a mystery.” 

Harry chuckles uncomfortably, shrugging before starting to take pictures of the library again. He takes one of Louis, even though he knows it probably won’t work, won’t be that easy to prove his existence.

“Well?” Louis insists, smirking when he realises Harry has shifted his focus. 

“I’m from Cheshire,” Harry replies truthfully, hoping if he doesn’t seem disingenuous Louis will drop it. 

“Are you?” 

“Yes, small town named Holmes Chapel. It’s nothing extravagant, or special, but it’s home. I don’t know why you couldn’t find anything about me and my family, but we’re nothing special I can assure you. I’ve been traveling around the country, taking pictures of beautiful places, for a few months now. So I guess I’m not from anywhere specifically, anymore.” 

“Living that nomad lifestyle, then?” 

“I suppose… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling… restless,” Harry admits in a small voice and he shivers a little, trying to figure out how far he wants this new honesty policy to go. “I don’t quite know what I’m supposed to be doing, but taking pictures is the only thing that makes sense to me.” 

Louis hums thoughtfully. “That seems very foreign to me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“To love something enough for it to be your path no matter what. That even when the rest is unsettled, this is.” 

“I know I don’t know you very well, but even I can see that you love the Estate more than anything. And that’s your path, no?” Harry asks, trying to understand the complexity and ambiguity of Louis Tomlinson’s character. 

“I have to love it,” Louis says and there’s no bitterness in his voice or on his face, but Harry gulps uncomfortably like it was there anyway. “I’m its protector, its representative, its guardian.”

“What would you do?” Harry asks, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to know. “If you could be anything in the world? What would you be? Where would you go?" 

Louis blinks once, twice, three times. “I’d be right here,” he says slowly, earnestly. There’s no doubt in his tone, no hesitation. It’s almost like he doesn’t understand why Harry would even ask. 

“I’m asking about dreams though,” Harry insists even though he knows he shouldn’t. 

“I’d be right here,” Louis repeats, a hint closed off now. He’s not being honest, he can’t be, and that, Harry suspects, is at the heart of why he’s there at all.

* 

A few days later, they’re all sprawled on the library floor again, surrounded by the printed articles and documents they found at the Yorkshire Historical Society. 

Niall takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking,” he declares seriously, both legs stretched out in a v on the floor, a marriage certificate in one hand and a death certificate in the other. 

“Yes?’ Zayn replies and he doesn’t even sound exasperated, makes no snide remarks about what silly thing Niall might have been thinking about. Harry would call it progress, but he’s starting to suspect this back and forth between friendly and hostile is a characteristic of their relationship, something that just always has been and always will be. 

“Well, we need to find ways to prove that Louis is real and Harry isn’t going mental.” 

“Cheers, Niall,” Harry says, highlighting a line about the Tomlinson family in an article about Yorkshire Estates. 

“Well, we do. You know I believe you, but I’m pretty sure you need more proof than this right?” 

“I definitely need more proof than this,” Zayn agrees.

“Right, but we don’t want to introduce anyone else to Louis, or at least not straight away. We still haven’t found any patterns to his apparitions and it seems like Harry has started to establish some sort of trusting relationship with him and that’s important. We don’t want that to break. What we truly need is data, tangible data from Harry’s meetings with him.”

“How am I supposed to make friends with him and collect data at the same time? Without him noticing?” Harry asks. He barely has enough concentration to pretend to be interested in photography while he talks to Louis and tries to subtly interrogate him. He has so many things to balance and he feels like he’s failing at all of them, Louis simply becoming more and more mysterious every single time he opens his mouth. 

“You won’t,” Niall says with a shrug. “I was thinking, we could put some recording devices, video and audio, in a couple of the big rooms on the ground floor. The library, the dining room, a few drawing rooms, the hall…”

“Right, so you’ll have hours of footage of me talking to myself if it doesn’t work…” Harry snorts. “Greaaaat.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who is scared of ridicule,” Zayn says tauntingly, and from him it sounds like a challenge.

“I’m not,” Harry says with a frown. He’s being played, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“We can do something else,” Niall says, quick and sweet, wanting to be sure his friends are comfortable at all time.

“No, no. It’s fine. But what about your paranormal activity tools? The ones that measure spirits activities and stuff?”

“Yeah, I have some stuff that we can leave there. Are you meeting up with him again?”

Harry nods. “Every Wednesday, until he gets really sick of me.”

“Good. Then maybe next tuesday we can go together and put the instruments?” Niall offers. 

Zayn scrunches his nose. “I work on Tuesday.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t talking to you. Sorry.”

“But how am I supposed to know you’re not just gonna temper with things to convince me? I can’t surveil you if I’m not there!” he argues.

“Yeah, your opinion doesn’t matter that much to me… ?” Niall says dismissively with a shrug and Harry knows that has to be a lie. “Besides, what would be the point in me and Harry falsifying the data? We want to actually prove this shit is real, not convince random people it is.”

“Right,” Zayn says, dark eyes blinking slowly, “‘cause you don’t have anything to prove.”

Harry gulps as an uncomfortable silence creeps up to them and he tears his gaze away from the intense and calculating looks Zayn and Niall are giving each other. 

Harry scratches behind his left ear for a few seconds, before grabbing a new article and pretending to be absorbed by the whole thing. 

“I don’t,” Niall replies firmly. “It has nothing to do with that.”

“Really? You don’t want to prove to yourself and everyone in town who’s made fun of you that you’re right? Really Ni?”

“I know what I think and I don’t need anyone’s validation, certainly not yours so will you drop it?” Niall hisses as Harry frowns and rereads the first sentence of the article for the fourth time with a tensed jaw.

“If you say so,” Zayn replies with a click of his tongue. “Anyway, Harry can facetime me while you do it.”

“What?” Harry interrupts, finally turning his eyes back towards them. 

“Oh come on! You know very well I’m not going to tamper with, or falsify, anything. Do you always have to be this difficult?” Niall huffs loudly, passing his fingers through his fringe and making it stick up.

Zayn sticks out his tongue to him. “Obviously,” he replies. “Besides, things get boring stuck here alone all afternoon so you guys can distract me. It’s not like Harry is gonna be the one to install your precious tools anyway so he might as well film you.”

“Fine. But you and I both know you’re not alone here. There’s Anita.”

Zayn glares.

“Dare I ask who Anita is?” Harry says with a laugh. He knows exactly what Niall is going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“The old librarian,” Zayn replies before Niall gets the chance. “She’s the one who trained me while I was still in secondary school.” 

“She haunts this place,” Niall says, conspiratorial and predictable.

“She passed away two years ago.”

“And she still haunts this place, keeps Zayn company.”

“She was a great mentor actually, always encouraged my literary aspirations. I couldn’t really afford uni, but she always encouraged me saying I didn’t necessarily need it to be a proper writer.”

“Anita’s great,” Niall says, a bit emotional as he gives Zayn a tender look.

“Yeah, she was.”

“She sounds wonderful, I’m sorry she passed away.”

“It’s alright,” Zayn says. “She was old, it’s what happens.”

“Still, it’s always tough to lose someone you care about, even if it’s natural.”

Zayn hums half-heartedly. “Anyway, she doesn’t haunt this place no matter what Niall says.”

“What about the books that move by themselves!”

“It’s a library Niall,” Zayn explains slowly. “People move the books around, it happens.”

“It happens when there’s no one around! Come on, even you can’t be that much in denial,” Niall teases. “Floating books aren’t that common.”

Harry gasps. “You’ve seen floating books?”

“Ugh. Of course not. Two books fell from a shelf once. Once!!!! And he’s got it into his head that Anita is trying to send me messages, honestly.” 

“It was her two favourite books though. What are the odds?” 

“Plenty! The odds are plenty!” 

“Oh so you’re an expert in statistics now?” Niall taunts.

“You tutor some elementary school mathematics Niall so maybe you want to hop off that high horse of yours, yeah?”

“Fine. Agree to disagree?”

Zayn nods with a huff. He grabs a book, turn a few pages quickly, then rolls his eyes. “This is all pointless,” he says with disdain, dropping the book to the floor again. “We haven’t found anything relevant in any of these.” 

“We’re only just getting started.” 

“Still. What about the historians you mentioned? Couldn’t we hire one of them to do this digging for us? Surely they have more experience and could find stuff faster?” 

“Are you volunteering to pay them?” Niall asks. “Because yeah, that’d be awesome.”

“Alright, I get it.”

“We’ll call a proper historian once we have more than breadcrumbs.”

*

“What pushed you towards photography?” Louis asks the next week.

Harry shrugs, hyper aware of the cameras and recorders him and Niall spend hours installing the previous day. Everything he says here is going to be watched and rewatched by his friends, the previous safe intimacy of his meetings will Louis dead and gone.

“Oh come on,” Louis says with a laugh. “Don’t get all shy on me now. I’m curious. It’s so… quaint and intriguing.” 

“Photography?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow. “Quaint?" 

“Well, yes. For me, it is. So what was it?”

“My sister actually. She loved to pose for me when we were kids,” Harry reveals honestly. 

Louis whistles, sounding impressed. “You had a camera as a kid?” 

“Hum, I… My father, he… It was his, technically,” Harry babbles.

“Oh, is he a photographer too?”

Harry shakes his head. That would have been a much better option than his unrealistic truth.

“No, he… He’s... was a shop owner, antiques, you know? He always loved quirky things. We had this old camera in the shop and I loved it so much he gave it to me. I learned it all by myself. Every buttons.”

The part about the shop and the antiques isn’t exactly true, but the sentiment is. His father was the one to give him his first camera and Harry did learn it all by himself, initially. 

“A self-made man, how very modern of you,” Louis comments. 

“Hey, it’s 1924,” Harry says with a laugh, “the world is changing.”

Louis smiles in the corner of his mouth. 

“That it is.” 

*

“Did you know this manor is rumoured to be haunted?” Louis asks one Wednesday as they’re walking the grounds slowly. He points towards the house in the distance, squinting at it against the sun.

Harry coughs, almost swallowing his apple bite wrong. “What?” he squeaks after a few scary seconds where he really thought he was going to choke with no one to help him but a ghost. Although, Harry supposes if he has to die on the Estate, at least he knows he would have company.

“Oh yes,” Louis says mysteriously with a small twirl, turning to face Harry. “The tales go back centuries. Laughter in the corridors, music, apparitions…”

Harry feels his face fall as Louis enumerates every single thing he’s experienced in that manor. 

“Really?” he asks in a small voice. 

“Are you alright?” Louis says, tone changing as he takes a step forward. 

“I’m fine,” Harry says in the same squeaky voice. “I’m great.”

“Are you sure? The apple…” 

Harry laughs and throws the rest of his apple over his shoulder. “Nah, it’s all good. I’m great. You were talking about… the manor being haunted?” 

They stare at each other for a beat, eyes locked together in a silent battle. There’s nothing on Louis’ face that indicates he has any idea what he is, but why else would he be mentioning this? And how long have these rumours about the manor existed? Louis said centuries, but that makes no sense. Could he have heard someone from the village talk about it and incorporated it to his own history without realising? A bit of the future he latched on subconsciously… 

“Yes, well. I never really believed the stories, but my little sisters… They don’t like walking alone at night. They say there are voices in the corridors.” 

“Voices?” 

“Arguments, laughter…” 

“That seems a bit far-fetched,” Harry offers with an unconvinced pout, like he hasn’t reorganised his entire life around proving ghosts are real. 

“I definitely agree,” Louis says with a laugh. 

Harry takes his camera out of the case and starts taking pictures of the manor in the distance, trying to figure out a way to ask more that doesn’t sound weird or suspicious. 

“Why did you mention it then?” he ends up blurting awkwardly. He kneels to the ground, trying to get a different, better, angle and using it to ignore Louis’ intense looks. This could have gone better. 

“I thought you wanted to learn more about the house and its history?” 

“Y-yes. Yes, I do,” Harry babbles. “Of course.” 

“Well, this … folklore is part of it. A huge part of it. I thought you’d want me to tell you.” 

“Please tell me more about your ghosts,” Harry chuckles awkwardly. 

“Well, Daisy and Phoebe named him Hector, after the Trojan prince.” Louis stops for a second. “He’s a mythological figure,” he adds in explanation, making Harry smile. 

“I know who Hector is.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry, I just… I’m not very familiar with state schooling, and I guess I’m not sure how long you’ve been. I mean, I’m a patron in the local school so I go to meetings and stuff, but in the village it really varies, depending on the child and the family… Some of them quit very early, if they have to work on their parents’ farm- ” 

Harry snorts, interrupting Louis’ babbling. He strongly suspects he’s gone to school far longer than Louis ever had, but it probably would be rude to mention it. “Long enough,” he replies. “And I like to read, so.” 

“Oh.” Louis sounds surprised, but he smiles softly, his hair ruffled adorably by the wind. “Well, that’s good. That’s great. Good for you.” 

“What about your education?” Harry asks, now a bit curious. 

“Homeschooled until I was seventeen, best tutors in England.” 

“Of course,” Harry teases. 

“Then it’s mostly a lot of reading and keeping up with the world.”

“All that rich people gossip, uh?” Harry says, wiggling his eyebrows at Louis before hiding his face behind his camera and taking one more picture of the man, even though he knows he won’t show up. He never does.

“Mostly international politics,” Louis replies, posing naturally for the camera without even noticing. “And a lot of books about farming. I’m reading about pigs these days. Apparently, an Estate down south created new wealth and reinvigorated their place with them.”

“And that’s something you need?”

“Desperately,” Louis admits, half to himself, before looking at Harry. “I’m sorry Mr. Styles, I shouldn’t have said that. If my parents -” 

“I won’t say anything,” Harry interrupts reassuringly, because of course not.

“Still, our financial struggles are none of your business.” 

Harry sighs, then gets up. He absently rubs at his knees to get grass off his trousers. “Want to tell me more about the ghosts and your house being haunted instead?”

When he gets home that night, Harry can’t resist googling _Hillsbridge school_ and _Louis Tomlinson_ , smiling when he miraculously finds a picture of Louis giving school supplies to tiny little children dressed in their best clothes, waiting in a row. The caption reads: _Louis Tomlinson, son of Lord Tomlinson and patron of Hillsbridge Primary handing supplies for the new year!_  

Harry grins, charmed, and presses print.

When he gets to Robin’s office, his step-dad is in there, reading the article with a puzzled look. 

“Who’s Louis Tomlinson?” Robin asks. 

Harry snatches the paper from his hands and hides it from view.

“Nobody,” he says quickly. “Nobody important.” 

Robin slowly lowers his hand and gives Harry a surprisingly parental look. The kind of look he hasn’t received from Robin since he was about sixteen years old and tried to have a party at his bungalow without asking permission. 

“Really?” 

“Well, he’s a member of the family that owned the manor I’m doing a photography project about. You remember?” 

“I do.”

“So yeah, I’m learning about him. All of them. I’m learning about all of them,” Harry explains vaguely as he starts walking backwards and through the door. 

Back in his room, Harry pins the article to his wall, next to some of his favourite pictures he took of the manor, and other photos of the family.

* 

“Which one is your favourite?” Harry asks one day in early October, interrupting one of Louis’ rants about his younger siblings.

He gasp, looking offended for a second. “Which one is my favourite?” Louis repeats as he starts to walk the length of the big table in the dining room. 

“Hum.” 

“Which one of my siblings is my favourite? Really?” 

“You have a big family, no? Surely you have one sibling you’re particularly close to?” Harry exclaims casually, taking pictures of the chandelier. He thinks he’d be happy photographing that one thing for the rest of his life if he had to, every new angle is interesting. 

“Well, could you pick a favourite?” Louis demands as he turns around the table and faces Harry again, sounding beyond offended. His cheeks look a bit puffed with anger and it’s still incredible to witness, the way he looks ever so real and corporeal. It still feels like a bit of a miracle, like a delusion. 

Harry smirks and licks his lower lip. “Well,” he says, imitating Louis’ tone, “I only have one sister, so it’s not exactly a problem.” 

“What about the members of your family, uh? Which one is your favourite?” Louis insists. 

“I’m not answering that,” Harry says with a laugh. “Besides, I asked you first." 

“I am not answering that either, it’s none of your business. It’s a private matter.” 

“Mine is probably my sister,” Harry replies pensively. “I mean, my parents are incredible and I love them both. I’m very close to my mother, but Gemma… Gemma has always been my best friend. Ever since I was little. She was older and cleverer, but she always made time for me.”

Louis seems to deflate at the comment, letting out a long sigh. 

“Charlotte,” he finally admits in a small voice. “We’re the closest in age. But Doris is a close second, she’s one of the babies and she just…” Louis trails off with a fond look on his face, seemingly unaware of his environment. “If you tell another living soul,” he adds threateningly with those annoyingly piercing eyes of his. 

Harry chuckles. “Cross my heart.” 

Louis gives him a small look, from the corner of his eyes.“I remember when it was just me and her you know,” he says. “The both of us in that nursery, Nanny trying to stop me from holding her on my own. I never wanted to put her down. I don’t remember much, but I remember that. Was me and Charlotte against the world.” 

“It’s not anymore?” Harry asks because there’s something in Louis’ tone. 

“It’s different now. There’s more of us, and she’s getting all grown up. I mean, she’s still little, they all are, but she feels like a grown up and she tells me she’s an adult often enough that I have to start believing her, at some point. She has her own life. She’s officially out in the world. The other girls will soon follow.” 

“You find that hard?” 

“No,” Louis protests. “Yes. I’m their older brother, it’s a lot easier to protect them and be close to them when they’re younger and actually want me to.” 

“Ahhh,” Harry says knowingly. “I see. You’re overbearing.” 

“No, I’m not.”

“I think you probably are.” 

“Well, you don’t know me, so I don’t care what you think.”

“Yeahhh, you totally are. You don’t want them to go out into the world. That’s why you like spending time with Doris, she’s still a toddler.” 

“Well,” Louis huffs, “Ernest and her still listen to me when I tell them something is a bad idea, you know? They think I’m smart. Charlotte she huffs or she laughs, and don’t get me started on Félécity, I’ve never seen anyone this stubborn in my entire life. She’s convinced she’s going to be a journalist. I mean, it’s amazing, of course, she’s extremely smart and opinionated. She sent a piece about women’s rights to this local journal and they published it. It was amazing. Our parents were furious. Apparently, being opinionated isn’t a good trait to attract a wealthy husband. But I was proud.” 

“And attracting a wealthy husband is important?” Harry asks, eyeing the chandelier. 

Louis chuckles. “You really have no idea, do you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t worry, your naivety is cute, but here, appearances are everything. So yes Mr. Styles, attracting a wealthy husband is extremely important.” 

“Are you ever going to start calling me Harry? I mean, I’ve been coming here for over a month, don’t you think it’s time? I thought we were becoming friends.” 

“Oh, is that what we were doing? Because I thought you were snooping into my family’s private business and I was kind enough to allow you,” Louis offers, leaning against the table and crossing one leg over the other. 

“Well, that too, definitely, but I think it’s favoured the blossoming of our friendship. Don’t you agree, Louis?” Harry asks, fingers fiddling with his camera nervously. He’s hoping it’s not too much, too soon. 

Louis just raises an eyebrow at him. 

“My sister is a journalist you know,” Harry adds casually, just to see the way Louis’ eyes widen with interest. They even start sparkling. 

“She is?” 

“She’s trying to be. She’s really smart, smartest in our family. We’re all really proud of her. She’s making her way, like so many women before her. I know it’s none of my business, but your sister is going to be okay. They’re all going to be okay.” 

It’s a big statement to make, especially since they haven’t found information about all of them yet. It feels like their investigation is just running in circles, as they accumulate death and birth certificates and very little information about the in between. Still, Louis is dead and so are most of his siblings. It’s not a little reassuring white lie that’s going to hurt anyone.

Louis frowns, looking a bit surprised, then he smiles. “Thank you,” he says slowly. “Harry.” 

* 

“One of Louis’ sister was a journalist,” Harry declares the next day, when he arrives to the library. “Well, she wrote one feminist article according to Louis, but she had aspirations for more. I thought maybe we could try and find it, find them if there’s more. They might be under a pseudonym or her married name, but still. It’s good right? It’s a good lead?” 

Niall nods. “Yeah, definitely. We can look into that next time we go to the YHS. If we manage to find a marriage certificate in her name, that might help.” 

“Intense family, uh,” Zayn adds with a smile. “I mean, feminist articles in the 20s? How badass is that.” 

“Riiiiight?” Harry asks excitedly, turning to face Zayn and raising both of his arms. “They all sound awesome.”

“Makes you wish you had a different ghost, one with a little bit of a cooler agenda,” Zayn adds. He’s in one of the aisle, shelving books carelessly. Harry is pretty sure he’s not even looking at their barcodes to make sure they’re in the right spot.

“No,” Harry protests. “I absolutely don’t. Louis is great. He’s way cool.” 

“Oh, we know you think that,” Niall says with a laugh. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Well… we’ve been listening to the audios, and we’ve been watching the videos.” 

“I know, I’ve suffered awkwardly through each and every one of them, watching and hearing myself talking alone in that manor.” 

“Yeah, exactly. We know you like him.” 

“I don’t,” Harry says with a laugh. “I mean, I like him, obviously, but… just… I like him a normal amount. He’s really funny and interesting. It’s… cool to get to know him.” 

“Yeah,” Niall says slowly, sharing a look with Zayn across the room. “That’s what I’m saying. You’re obviously having fun getting to know him.” 

“Right,” Harry nods. “Good. That’s what I’m also saying.” 

“Good.” 

“Good.” 

“So, which one was it?” Zayn asks about after a beat. 

“Which one what?” 

“Which sister? Maybe some of the articles are online, we don’t have to wait until we go to YHS to find some stuff out. Surely there’s a database of vintage feminism somewhere, people love that stuff online.” 

“Uh, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Harry says, grabbing Niall’s ipad to start looking for some keywords. 

“I swear it’s like working with two eighty years old, have you guys never heard of Google before?” Zayn mumbles, half to them and half to himself. 

“Found anything?” Niall asks, crawling to where Harry is sitting on the floor. He’s not sure when sitting down on the library carpet to talk about ghosts and history became a habit, but somehow, somewhere down the line, as September turned into October, Harry got used to it.

“I literally just googled her name and women’s rights, can you maybe give me five seconds?”

They don’t find anything under Félicité Tomlinson, but they do find a series of articles under the name Fizzy Spencer and, after a bit of digging, they find her marriage certificate to a certain Lord William Spencer which confirms she’s the right one. She never stopped writing, apparently, until her natural death at the end of 1996. 

Harry smiles while he prints copies of her articles on the terrible printer in the library. He has to turn it off and back on again after every single page, but he doesn’t mind the annoying quirk today. They finally progressed beyond some random dates with no meaning, they found information about one of them. They found out about her life, her career, her husband's family... It’s a complete side of the family tree they knew nothing about before today, and one random comment led them to it. More importantly, Harry didn’t lie to Louis. Félicité did great, just like Harry said she would. 

*

Gemma finally comes to visit Hillsbridge as November dies, choosing to spend the last few days of the month in the village Harry has told her so much about. He’s both excited and nervous to share this part of his life with her, but the moment he hears her walk loudly through the door and giggle with their mother, the nerves die down.

“You’re here!” Harry yells excitedly from the top of the stairs, arms stretched out like he’s trying to hug her from the top floor.

She grins above their mother’s shoulder, giving her a last squeeze and a small kiss on the cheeks before disentangling herself from the hug and taking her coat off.

“I am,” she replies, striking a goofy pose and putting one high-heeled boot on top of her suitcase like she’s conquering it. 

Harry giggles and skips down the stairs, almost falling off in the process, before grabbing Gemma around the waist and lifting her into a crushing hug. 

“Hey H,” she says softly, burying her head into his shoulder. “How are you baby bro?” 

“I’m good,” Harry replies and he’s really starting to mean it, with a busy routine in place and his newly found sense of purpose. “How are you?” he asks as he puts her down, pressing a loud kiss on the top of her head. “Was the drive okay? Did you find the house alright?” 

“Hey,” Anne protests from the corner, “fussing his my job.” 

Gemma rolls her eyes at both of them. “I’m great, the drive was great and I’m very excited to finally visit this place.” She wiggles her eyebrow at Harry and he knows she probably means the manor, but he’ll be damned if he lets that happen. 

“Well, come on then,” Anne says, grabbing her daughter’s arm. “I’ll give you the grand tour while Harry puts your suitcase in the guest room.” 

“Oh Harry is going to do that, is he?” he says mockingly before bending down to kiss his mother’s cheek. 

“Harry has been living in the house rent free for three months so, yeahhh,” Gemma replies, sticking out her tongue at him. “He’s gonna!” 

He grabs the suitcase without any more complaint, happy that his sister is finally home. 

* 

“I’m excited to meet them,” Gemma says the next night as they’re walking to the pub to meet up with Niall and Zayn. 

“Yeah, me too,” Harry replies, passing a hand through his hair. 

He’s not nervous, exactly, but his heart keeps fluttering uncomfortably at the thought of the two sides of his life merging like this. He was going to try and talk her out of it, but even Niall and Zayn were excited at the prospect of meeting a new person. Harry supposes it’s the tiny, extremely small, microscopic town effect. Every single chance of meeting a youth that is not someone they had to tolerate in secondary school is considered an amazing opportunity. 

“You know, you’ve got a lot to live up to,” he adds, teasingly, as they finally reaches the pub. 

Gemma raises a perfectly maintained eyebrow at him. “Meaning?” 

Harry shrugs, opening the door for her. “I’ve talked you up,” he admits. “Babbled about my cooler, older sister, so you gotta be great tonight,” he teases like she could ever be anything else. 

“Please,” Gemma laughs, looking back at Harry over her shoulder as she walks in, her short blond hair moving smoothly like she’s in some cheesy American shampoo commercial, “I’m always great. They’re gonna both be in love with me by the time this evening is over.” 

Harry snorts as he follows her in, scanning the crowd to find his friends. He spots Niall a few seconds later, smirking when he sees him waving at them excitedly. 

“I’m pretty sure they’re in love with each other, so there won’t be any flattering of your ego, but I’ll give you ten pounds if you get them to admit they want to bone.” 

“You’ll give me ten pounds because you owe me for that website thing I did for you.” 

Harry winces. He’d completely forgotten about that. 

Gemma smiles. She wraps her arm around his shoulder, knocking their heads together softly. “S’fine. I know you haven’t found a job yet. Keep your non-existent money. Although, I’m curious to see if you’re right about them. Shall we?” 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry replies, pushing her towards the table. 

“Heyyyy!” Niall calls when they finally take their seats. “I’m Niall,” he adds, offering his hand to Gemma. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

Zayn snorts, then nods at her. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hello boys!” Gemma declares like she’s a few decades older than them rather than a few short years. “Which one of you is going to be gentlemanly enough to buy me my first drink, then?”

Niall snorts and Zayn smiles, both of them looking delighted. 

“Zayn will get if for you,” Niall says, pointing at his friend with his thumb without even looking at his face for confirmation. 

“And one for me too please!” Harry adds with fluttery eyelashes and a dimpled smile. 

Zayn rolls his eyes before getting up. “You should all be getting your own drinks, you lazy arses.” He waits for a beat before glancing at Gemma. “Not you,” he adds carefully. “I don’t know you enough to establish if you’re a lazy arse or not.” 

Gemma laughs as he walks away. “I like him,” she whispers loudly to Harry. “He’s very cross.” 

“He’s just annoyed ‘cause he’s the only one of us who has a true job so he’s had to finance a lot of our ghost escapades.” 

Harry’s heart skips a beat when the word ghost leaves Niall’s mouth and he closes his eyes, hoping for one second that the pub is too loud for his sister to have heard it. 

“Your _what_?” Gemma says with a snort, and it’s a testament to how fucking weird she thinks what Niall says is, because she never makes such unflattering noises when she can help it. 

“Our ghost escapades!” Niall repeats, ignoring Harry’s warning faces, his widened eyes and his head shaking as subtly as he can. 

 _Abort mission!!!!_ he tries to tell his friend with his mind, but apparently, no matter how many paranormal books he’s read, Harry hasn’t mastered telepathy yet.  

“Our ghostapades!” Niall continues happily, delighted with his own word play.

“I’m not following,” Gemma says, still laughing. “The fuck is he on about?” she asks, looking at Harry straight on. 

He shrugs helplessly, hoping if he pretends Niall is drunk and he has no idea what he’s talking about, she might drop it. 

“That’s what we should call it H!” Niall adds pointedly. “Fuck OHMM, it’s a ghostapade!” 

Harry cringes. “Maybe,” he says shortly before spotting Zayn getting closer to their table, hands full of various drinks. “Zayn needs help!” Harry yells, jumping on his feet to get away from the table. 

“No!” Zayn says threateningly when Harry finally approaches him. 

“But-” 

“I’ve struck a delicate balance here Styles, you take one of these drinks and you ruin the whole fucking thing.” 

Harry pouts, but agrees, then starts escorting Zayn back to their table, ensuring no one gets too close to him and make him spill. 

“So yeah,” Niall says when Harry finally gets back to him and Gemma, “we’re doing our best to figure out his history, and how he died.” 

“Niall,” Harry interrupts warningly, giving Gemma a quick side glance. “Gemma isn’t interested in that stuff.”

“Everyone is interested in that stuff!” Niall says, happy as ever, as he grabs his pint from Zayn. 

“Yeah,” Gemma adds slowly, her eyes guarded as she stares at her brother. “I’m interested. Apparently you see ghosts now. You’d think that’s something someone would share with their favourite sister.” 

“You’re my only sister,” Harry argues. “And it was complicated. We’re still figuring things out.”

“Still figu-” Gemma stops herself and looks at Niall for a second. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. When you said the project had changed and you were focusing on history, this isn’t exactly what I imagined,” she says with a forced laugh. To anyone else, it looks real and Niall even starts laughing with her, but Harry knows her better than that. She’s thinking exactly what he feared she would think, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before she lets him know, frankly, how much she disapproves.

Time flies once the conversation steers away from ghosts, and Harry almost manages to have fun. Niall is hilarious, cracking jokes after jokes and making Gemma laughs, while Zayn talks to her about one book or the other that he’s recently enjoyed and she’s put on her to-read list. All in all, it’s a successful evening and she seems to be having fun. It’s only when they leave and start walking back to their parents’ house that her demeanour changes.

“Gemma,” Harry says as she starts walking ahead of him, her back straight and her hair a mess against the wind. 

She ignores his call, head held high. 

“Gemma, please,” Harry continues, trying to zip his coat up and run after her at the same time, body shivering. 

“I’m not talking to you,” she replies and he can barely make it out as the wind whistles loudly.

“Oh great, good job. Very mature of you Gems.” 

She stops in her tracks, turns around and glares. 

“You wanna talk about maturity? You wanna talk about responsibility? Really Harry? Because I’m not the one lying to everyone and going on a wild-goose chase,” she yells, pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

“That’s none of you business.” 

“Have you even been sending out CVs? Have you even looked at job listings ever since you moved here?” 

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything,” Harry replies defensively, feeling his cheeks heat up. He tightens his arms around his waist, trying to hold himself together. He always feel like he needs to explain himself, like he needs to defend his choices even though they shouldn’t be anyone else’s to make but his. And with his sister more than anyone else.

“That’s what you were supposed to be doing!” Gemma argues. “This,” she adds angrily, gesturing vaguely at the main street around them, “was supposed to be temporary! What about your five years plan, huh? What about your dreams? Your ambition? Jesus Christ, Harry.” 

“Plans change,” Harry replies, feeling his voice crack. “I didn’t think I would get dumped and thrown out of our flat, but I did. I didn’t think I’d be jobless after graduation, but I am.”

“Yeah, you are, and I’m really sorry all that happened to you Harry, but that’s not an excuse to give up like a coward and team up with a bunch of crazies.” 

Harry gasps. “Niall and Zayn are not crazies!” he replies defensively, feeling more angry than offended now. They’re his friends, some of his best friends, and before them and their insane distracting project, he was sad and disappointed all the time. Now he gets up in the morning, excited at the thought of learning more about the manor and thrilled to get to know Louis better. What is so wrong with that? 

“They’re hunting a ghost Harry!” Gemma says with a mean laugh. “They think you saw a ghost!” 

“I did see a ghost,” Harry replies through gritted teeth and it’s the first time he’s actually had to take position on it, the first time he’s had to defend himself. It sucks that it’s against one of the few people he thought would always be on his side.

“Oh, Harry,” she says with a pity. “I know you’re tired and maybe you thought-”

“Besides,” Harry interrupts, not wanting to hear her ranting about exhaustion and hallucinations, “Zayn and Niall are my friends. The least you could do is treat them with respect. I thought you had fun with them.”

“I did, they’re great guys, I won’t deny it. They’re funny and I had a good time. That doesn’t mean I can’t recognise that you’ve gone off the rails!”

Harry groans in frustration. “I know what I saw Gemma!” he yells.

“You’ve been having a hard time, there’s no denying it.”

“Gems -”

“You just need to focus-” 

“Gemma!” Harry interrupts her tirade with an exasperated sigh. If she’d only just _listen_ to him. “I’m not insane,” he says insistently. “I saw a ghost, I swear to you. You know I’m a rational person, I wouldn’t make this up."

Gemma makes a pained face and sighs, before taking a step closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re vulnerable right now and they are using you.” 

“ _They_ are my friends,” Harry repeats with more heat, shrugging her hand off him and taking a step backwards.

“What about your friends from uni?” Gemma asks, stubborn as ever and refusing to let this go. “Have you talked to them recently?” 

As usual, Gemma manages to seize him up too quickly, to know too much without him having to say a word. He shrugs, looking down.

“Harry."

“I just figured it’d be easier not forcing them to choose,” he explains awkwardly. They’re all his ex’s friends, the same little group he got to know in his first year and that did everything together as they progressed through their studies, as Harry and his ex fell in love and out of love. He’s not in Manchester anymore and they all are. It’s just easier that way.

“They’re your friends too. You’re isolating yourself, and you’re talking crazy.” 

“Look, I know it looks bad, but Niall and Zayn are great. We have fun together. You’re the one who told me I needed to relax a bit, stop worrying about my stupid five years plan? That’s what I’m doing now,” he says pleadingly, frowning and shivering as the wind blows around them and the stars sparkles above.

“I didn’t mean start chasing ghosts and pipe dreams,” Gemma whispers and she looks sad. Worse, she looks disappointed.

“So what if it’s not true?” Harry argues. “Who cares? No one knows what happens after we die. People can claim that they do, but nobody knows for sure. Is it really beyond your imagination to think that there actually could be something out there? That our soul might live on? And if it might be, then is it so wrong to want to investigate it?”

“I’m not saying it’s impossible, of course not. We can’t know.”

“Exactly!” 

“But -”

“I’m not hurting anyone and I’m not hurting myself. I’m just curious. Intellectual curiosity isn’t a bad thing, you know. I’m just trying to make sense of what I saw. It might not be a ghost, you’re right. But I want to try and explore all the possibilities before I convince myself that it wasn’t. Is that so stupid?”

Gemma sighs and grabs him, quickly pressing him against her chest into a fierce hug. “Of course not, H.”

“I don’t care what you say or what you think… I’m not going to stop,” Harry whispers in her ear before hiding his face in her shoulder for a second. 

She sighs and they untangle themselves. Gemma gives him a sad look and shakes her head. “Let’s go home before mum worries.”

They walk back in silence, still in disagreement, but unwilling to start fighting again. When they finally walk back into the house, things are still a hint tensed and awkward. If Anne notices, she doesn’t say anything. She just gives them a calculating look as they wave her goodnight and climb the stairs in silence. They give each other a last piercing look across the corridor when they reach their respective bedroom doors before walking in to sleep it off. 

“She doesn’t know best,” Harry mumbles to himself as he changes his jumper into a comfortable t-shirt to sleep in. 

*

Harry wakes, startled by the creaking of his bedroom floor. He opens his eyes in the dark, taking in the stillness of his room, wondering with confusion what woke up him. 

“What?” he mumbles sleepily to himself, one hand in his hair. 

“S’just me,” Gemma says in the dark and Harry gasps, sitting up quickly. 

“Gemma?” he calls, blinking a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He can almost make out her figure in one corner of  his bedroom. “What the fuck are you doing? What time is it?” 

She shrugs, then she takes a few steps forwards, sitting down next to him on the bed. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits in a small voice. “I don’t like fighting with you.” 

“I don’t like it either, but you have to let me live my life and make my own mistake. I’m not a child. And I’m certainly not _your_ child.”  

Gemma doesn’t say anything for a moment, then she gets even closer and lets her head rest on his shoulder, wrapping both of her arms around his waist, trapping him in a weird cuddle.

Instead of complaining, Harry wraps his own arm around her shoulder and lets his head rest on hers, smiling when she lets out a tiny sigh. 

“I know that,” she whispers after a moment. “I do know that. It’s just… you’re my baby brother, I take care of you. That’s what I’ve always done. And you’ve been sad.” 

“Gemma-” 

“You’ve been really sad while I was busy in London and I didn’t come to see you and I couldn’t do anything…” 

“It’s not your job to make sure I’m never sad." 

Gemma laughs. “Yeah… It’s just… you just graduated, you’re supposed to be proud of yourself and excited for this new chapter of your life. Not heartbroken and abandoning every single one of your dreams.” 

Harry scrunches his nose at the comments. “I’m not heartbroken,” he replies. “Not anymore, I don’t think so.” 

“Yeah,” Gemma agrees softly. “You don’t look it.” 

“And I’m not abandoning my dreams. I’m taking pictures of that manor like crazy. I got this old vintage camera, and the photos I’ve developed so far are amazing. Mum let me turn one of the rooms in the basement into a dark room so I could work from home. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them yet, but since we’re doing a lot of research about the history of the place and I’ve been talking to the ghost - don’t say anything - I think maybe a book, or an exhibit? I don’t know, something to tie them together. The history and the photography.” 

“You really have been thinking about this.” 

“Yeah, of course. This… ghost thing, it’s fun and a good distraction, but it doesn’t mean I’ve lost my focus. I’m just… taking a break. Some me time. That’s what you wanted? No?” 

“Don’t use my own words against me, that’s rude H,” Gemma says, pinching his love handles. 

Harry squeaks.  “Well, did you or did you not say that I needed a break?” 

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” Gemma says petulantly. “I’m sorry. I was rude about your friends while they were super nice to me, and I said you were crazy-”

“Wait, wait. You didn’t say I was crazy, you said they were.” 

“Oh.Well I definitely thought it and implied it, so… sorry about that.” 

“You suck,” Harry mumbles. 

“I’m trying to say I’m sorry!” Gemma argues, pushing him away from her until he’s lying on his bed. She crosses her arms and pouts. 

“Well, your apology sucks, might as well not say anything at point!” 

“Fine! I think you’re wasting your life and you’ve gone mad, thinking you’re talking to ghosts!” Gemma says arrogantly. 

“One ghost! I’m only talking to one ghost and he’s a lot nicer than you are."

“Completely bloody mental,” Gemma whispers, still sounding fond. She lies next to him, grabbing his favourite pillow for herself. “I’m one hundred percent judging you and you better start sending CVs or I’m telling mum what you and your crazies are doing.” 

“Fine,” Harry agrees, figuring it’s the best deal he’s going to get out of her. “Now give me my pillow back and shut up, I have an early meeting with my _crazies._ ”  

* 

The day after Gemma leaves, Harry sends her a text. 

_I sent five CVs this afternoon and I signed up for a knitting class for January. Not isolating myself._

He smiles when she replies with a link for an article about Hillsbridge Manor.


	2. Winter

One day, in the beginning of December, Harry shows up to the manor without his camera. He woke up late, wasn't ready, and in the end... Harry forgot. He just biked up the hill without his alibi and now he's at the gate, empty handed, wrapped up in a big scarf and an old coat that belonged to Niall's grandfather.

Louis, of course, notices straight away.

"No camera today?" he asks teasingly. "What's even the point of you being here if you don't bring your camera?"

"I thought we could talk," Harry offers. "Walk around those beautiful grounds of yours and talk. I understand if you're not up for that though."  

"No," Louis replies quickly. "That's fine. Photography isn't everything, right?"

"Photography isn't everything," Harry confirms. "Although, it matters a lot."

Louis laughs. "I get it, I get it. I'm not allowed to make fun of your profession even if I don't understand you bohemian, artistic types."

"I hardly think I'm a bohemian," Harry protests, hiding his hands in Pop's coat.

"You're an artist, you can't be an accurate judge of that, unfortunately," Louis explains as they walk through the gates.

"Well, you're a snob so you can't be an accurate judge either."

Louis laughs, snapping his fingers towards Harry. "Fair enough, Harry," he says and it still sends a little thrill down Harry's spine to hear him say his name. The novelty of the whole thing still hasn't worn off and it's exciting. "So, where do you want to go?"

"This is your land," Harry shrugs. "You decide."

"What about the Chapel?" Louis offers, eyes lightening up. "You haven't visited it yet."

"Yeah, that works. Good idea."  

Louis smirks and shakes his head. "Oh, you are going to regret not bringing your camera today, because that building is truly beautiful. When the light hits the windows right, it's like... being transported to another world." 

"I guess I'll just have to go back once I have my camera," Harry replies with a sheepish shrug.

"I guess," Louis replies, turning towards the group of trees opposite the stables.  

Sometimes Harry feels like Louis' land simply... does not end. There are fields and a house and a garage and stables and a forest apparently.

"How big is the Estate exactly?" Harry asks as they walk forwards.  

"Including the village and all the tenants' farm?" Louis asks.

Harry nods and it sets Louis off as he starts babbling about the different ways to divide their land up, the different ways to understand it's size and magnitude. Harry doesn't understand all of it, but mostly he gathers that the place is big. Really big. Bigger than he first thought. He knows there's no way Mr. Anonymous bought all of what Louis is talking up. The Estate was sliced up and divided and redivided through the years, leaving only the house and the surrounding land. Probably including the forest they are currently walking through.

"Are you... sure you know where we are going?" Harry asks after an hour of walking through the trees.

"I think I know my own land, thank you very much," Louis replies stubbornly, bending down gracefully to avoid getting hit in the face by a branch,

"It's just... we've been walking for a long time." Harry states the obvious in a small voice.  

"It's normal."

"Are you sure?" 

"What do you want me to say? That we're lost?" Louis snaps angrily.

Harry presses his lips together in an effort not to laugh. "Well, yes, if that's the truth."  

"Fine! We're lost. Are you happy?"  

"Not particularly," Harry says with a laugh.  

"I could swear we were close to it," Louis moans, turning around on himself and looking at all the trees surrounding them. They all look to same to Harry, but then again, he hasn't grown up here and lived here all of his life like Louis supposedly has.  

"Do you often go to the Chapel?"  

"Is that a subtle way to ask me if I'm religious?" Louis says, unimpressed as he puts a hand on his hip. “That’s not a very appropriate question, Harry. Rather personal.”   

"No, it's a non-subtle way to ask you if you can get us out of those woods and back to your house before it gets dark," Harry replies. He grabs his scarf and starts taking it off. It's not a particularly warm day, but he wasn't planning on walking this long and now he's feeling all sweaty and uncomfortable and still nowhere close to this magically beautiful Chapel he keeps hearing about.  

"That's ages away," Louis huffs. "It's not even noon yet."  

"I know," Harry says seriously before giggling when Louis frowns at him. "I'm just teasing you."  

"It's not very polite."  

"Of course it is, it's friendly. I'm your friend. I'm teasing you."  

Louis shakes his head. "I don't," he admits. "I very rarely come to the Chapel. My sisters, they go all the time. Liam too."  

"Liam?" Harry asks. The name seems familiar, but he can't quite place it.  

"Mr. Payne," Louis says, correcting himself. "My valet. Servants don't usually go, but he likes it there very much so I let him go on mornings I don't need him to help me get dressed fancy."  

"I thought you were always dressed fancy. Mr. Son of the Earl."  

"Well," Louis says, opening his coat and sitting down on a tree trunk, legs open wide and forearms resting on his thighs, "a little less fancy than usual, let's say. Like today. Casual attire doesn't require as much help."  

"Are you saying you dressed yourself today Mr. Tomlinson?" Harry asks mockingly. "Good job," he adds with a whistle.  

"You're not as funny as you think you are."  

"I think I'm extremely funny, so if I'm only a little below that, then I can live with it."  

Louis doesn't say anything to agree or disagree, but Harry can see the way the corner of his mouth twitches as he tries to stop himself from smiling.  

"So," Harry says with a sigh, "You wanted to show me a fancy chapel you never go to, and you don't know where it is, and now we're completely lost. Is that an adequate summary of our situation?"  

"Yes," Louis replies. "Sorry?"  

Harry smirks. "It's alright," he says, walking a bit to join Louis, sitting down on the opposite side of the fallen tree, as far away from the ghost as possible. "Could be worse. Besides, what is life without a little adventure, right?" he says with a wink.  

"Is that why you moved away from home?" Louis asks.  

"What?" Harry says.  

"Your village," he says. "You left to travel and take pictures, no?"  

"Hum, yes. I suppose I did," Harry replies awkwardly. If coming back home can be considered an adventure, Harry supposes Louis is right. He tries not to let any bitterness slip into his tone as he continues talking. "I just... wanted to see more."  

Louis hums. "I suppose I can understand that. A bit."  

“Getting tired of your manor, Louis?” 

“Never,” Louis huffs a little too loud. “This confusing forest and that stupid chapel, however… well, that’s another story.”  

“You could always have it demolish, once you’re king of the kingdom,” Harry suggests casually.  

Louis hisses. “Careful there, generations of Tomlinsons just rolled in their graves and started cursing.”

“Creepy,” Harry declares. “Should I be scared?”  After spending months chatting with a literally dead person, Harry doesn’t think there’s anything in this world that could actually creep him out. Scare him? Sure. But not creep him out.  

“Oh yes, definitely. Tomlinsons are stubborn and terrifying. Now, let’s get out here because I can’t take those trees mocking me anymore.”  

“The trees aren’t doing anything.”

“They exist not as I remember, which is very confusing when you’re looking for something specific. Therefore, they offend me. Now, let’s walk back to the manor, I’m in dire need of some tea and dignity.”  

Harry snorts. “What about the Chapel of wonders?” he asks sarcastically.  

“You can see it later, or never for all I care about,” Louis replies, grumpy and irritated as he gets up from the trunk. “Come on, let’s go back.”  

* 

“Oh come on!!” Niall moans as he watches footage of Harry making a fool of himself. “It’s like you’re not even trying.”  

Harry gasps, pointing at the laptop where he’s having a deep conversation with… absolutely nothing.  

“Excuse you,” he says, “I’m trying very hard. I don’t see any of you volunteering to have your every single move recorded like that, and have that awkward footage haunting you forever. Pun intended.”  

“Well, we’re not the ones who have a close personal relationship with the ghost…” Zayn argues, as he chews on some popcorn and he keeps watching the recording. “And, sorry mate, but you’re not _really_ trying. I mean… you asked him about his diet? Really? He’s a ghost he doesn’t even need to eat.”

Harry grimaces. “He’s a ghost who thinks he’s human, and he’s super rich so I was curious about meals at the Manor…” he explains sheepishly. “Besides, he might have been poisoned! He could have choked! Or, he might have died of an allergy or something! It could be totally pertinent, I’m just being thorough. 

“You’re just chatting with your friend because you’re curious, it’s fine,” Niall says reassuringly. “It’s just… we’re gonna have to start asking him more pointed questions if we want to get somewhere. He needs to realise he’s dead at some point, and it’s not like we can make him remember. Especially if we have zero details about his death to offer him.” 

“Offer him details?” Harry winces and he sees Zayn do the same from the corner of his eyes.

“Well, if we knew how he died, you could try giving hints here and there… See if something triggers him” 

“I don’t want to trigger him,” Harry says sadly, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the idea. Talking to Louis? Sure. Telling him the truth eventually? Brilliant. Trying to voluntarily upset him so he can remember the - probably - traumatic end of his life? Not so much.

“I know,” Niall says, compassionate as ever. He puts a hand on Harry’s arm, patting the spot a little condescendingly. “But we might not have a choice.” 

“But -”  

“Did Louis just disappear?” Zayn asks, pointing at the laptop. Harry is alone in the frame, as usual, lips turned down in an unhappy pout. “You always pout like that when he vanishes mid-conversation,” he adds, giving Harry a knowing look.

On the screen, Harry grabs his camera and his jacket, then he starts walking away.  

“Called it!” Zayn says triumphantly. “The pout doesn’t lie,” he adds, pinching Harry’s cheek.  

Harry groans, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and he reaches for the laptop, shutting it close firmly.  

“Whatever,” he mumbles, getting up from his seat. 

He can see Niall and Zayn high five happily and he grimaces.  

“Next time, I’m meeting Louis outside,” he threatens. “We’re gonna go to the woods again. Or the stables. I’m gonna take him far away from your stupid recording devices and then where will you be? Uh?” 

“Oh, don’t do that,” Niall says with a laugh. “I know the Paranormeter hasn’t been a success, but my Spirit Statics device has been reacting like mad! Readings are off the charts. Besides, winter is coming.” 

Zayn nods. “Winter is here,” he points out.

“Right, you don’t want to spend all your time outside.” 

“You’re siding with him?” Harry asks Zayn petulantly. “Really? With Spirit Statics device guy?”  

Zayn shrugs then smirks mockingly. “The readings are off the charts, mate,” he says calmly.

Harry crosses his arms. “You just want to see me talk to myself some more." 

“It _is_ really funny.” 

His friends are jerks, Harry thinks as he walks back home, shivering under his two sweaters and his jacket. All of them. Jerks.  

Except for Louis.  

* 

“What’s your biggest dream?” Harry asks Louis the next week, trying his best to pretend every single of his movements aren’t being recorded and observed. 

He shouldn’t have helped Niall install the cameras. He should have stayed home that day instead and then he wouldn’t know where they are hiding in the library and he wouldn’t keep looking awkwardly that way like an idiot. 

“My dream?” Louis asks, closing the book he was holding. It’s falling apart, some pages slipping. Louis, of course, doesn’t notice. He sees something else entirely. He sees part of his kingdom, a pristine and impeccable place.  

“Yeah. What do you want to achieve the most?”  

“Well -” 

“Don’t say take care of the Estate!” Harry interrupts abruptly, giving Louis a warning look. 

He pouts. “But it is!” 

“And you sound like a broken record.”  

“A what?” Louis asks and Harry’s eyes widen as he wonders if the expression exists yet, if it’s been popularised.  

“Nothing. You’re just really repetitive, the least you could do is give me something personal instead of the official “I want the Estate to do well” line!!” Harry says to tease Louis into forgetting his idiomatic mistake.  

Louis squeaks, looking ruffled and offended. “I do want the Estate to do well!!”

“Yes!” Harry says with a laugh. “Anyone who has met you for five seconds knows that you want the Estate to do well! It’s no secret! I’m asking you about your dreams, though!” 

“I want to… I want to be happy,” Louis reveals, looking a bit embarrassed. He scratches at his left cheek for a moment, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “And I don’t want to disappoint my parents.”  

Harry smiles. 

“You think it’s stupid,” Louis says matter-of-factly.  

“No, I think it’s a really relatable goal. I mean… Who doesn’t want to be happy and make their parents proud?” 

Louis gives him a suspicious look and Harry can’t resist the urge to take his picture, even if there’s no point. Oh well, another photo wasted with sloppy composition and no one actually in it.

“I feel like you’re making fun of me,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Also, you’re supposed to take pictures of my house, not me.”  

“Ahh, but you look so funny when you pout and frown like that,” Harry giggles, taking another picture, not caring about the waste when it makes Louis blush and put a hand up his face to try to hide.  

“Stop it,” Louis protests, still hiding. “I will have you thrown out of this house! I mean it, I will call Liam right now, and he will grab you by the neck like the stray cat you are. He will physically throw you out.”  

“Scary,” Harry deadpans.  

“He is actually,” Louis replies, taking his hand off his face and putting it on his hip. “Liam is… huge. He can, and will, kick your arse if you disobey the house rules.”  

“It’s a house rule that I can’t take pictures of you?” Harry says with a laugh. “When did we agree to that?” he adds, taking a third photo to rile Louis up.  

“Thread very carefully here, Styles. You are walking on thin ice.”  

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, trying to hide the small smile in the corner of his mouth.  

“You don’t look or sound sorry at all. Not at all.” 

Harry grins, then raises the camera to his face once more.  

“Stray cat!” Louis squeaks and he picks up a book to hide behind.  

“You’re no fun.” 

“I am plenty of fun,” Louis huffs as he walks himself backwards to an armchair, still hiding behind what looks like an old copy of Hamlet.  

“Sure, sure you are. Staying in here with your stuffy books.”

“Nice try, but I know you love books and reading.”  

“Fine, then I suppose we’re both no fun.”  

“Fine.” 

* 

In mid-December, they go to the _Yorkshire Historical Society_ one last time before they close for the holidays. They spend an entire afternoon looking for more information, especially about Louis himself, without much luck.  

“Things are going well,” Niall says optimistically as they are driving back to Hillsbridge in the early evening.  

“Are they?” Harry asks with a sigh. He’s tired of going in circles, of finding information about every single member of the Tomlinson family except the one he’s most interested in. Some days, Harry feels like he’s never going to figure out what the hell happened to Louis, that he’s never going to understand how and why he’s still hanging around.  

“It’s not that bad,” Niall replies. “I know you’re disappointed we haven’t found out much about Louis himself, but we’re getting there. And we found a lot of stuff. There’s progress.” 

Zayn nods. “We really have,” he says, turning his head to look at Harry. “Seriously.” He reaches into his jacket’s inside pocket and grabs a tiny notebook. He opens it and clears his throat. “Charlotte Tomlinson, died in 2009, she had three children we could have tried to find, but we haven’t yet.”  

“We decided to wait until we found information on all the siblings before going after the descendants,” Harry recites half-heartedly. It’s a fair plan, one that they all agreed on. He’s just getting frustrated.  

“Félicité Tomlinson died in 1996. Married, but had no children,” Zayn continues, reading off his notebook.

Niall gasps, smiling dopily. “Have you been taking notes, too?” he asks Zayn, his eyes leaving the road for a second to stare at the tiny notebooks in his hands.  

“Eyes on the road, Horan,” Zayn says sternly, pointing at the motorway stretching in front of them. “Daisy and Phoebe Tomlinson died in 2012 and 2011 respectively. We’re pretty sure at least one of them had kids, but it’s unconfirmed as of now.”

“I already know all of this,” Harry says. He leans towards the gap between Niall and Zayn’s seats. “Do you still have candies?" 

“I’m not giving you my candies, you always steal my candies.”  

“Please, Zayn. I’m hungry.”  

“You can take some of my skittles,” Niall offers.  

“Don’t give him your skittles, there won’t be any left ‘cause he’s a petty thief and in thirty minutes you’ll be the one moaning because you don’t have any candies left,” Zayn argues. “And I know you already know this stuff, we’re recapitulating. So, Daisy and Phoebe are out.”  

“Zayn!”  

“What? They are,” Zayn replies with a shrug. “Skittles?” he says, shoving the bag in Harry’s face. “Ernest Tomlinson moved to the US in the seventies, and we’re still working on finding an address or phone number for him. As for Doris Tomlinson, we found the records of her first marriage but we lost her trace after that. And, obviously, we haven’t found anything about Louis past the early twenties. Not even mentions of an accident, or a disappearance. Now, we found some information about almost every single kid in that family, can it please be time for us to call a proper historian?”  

“Ah,” Harry says with a mouthful of candies. He chews loudly for a few seconds. “I now see the point of our little recapitulation.”  

“Niall,” Zayn says insistently, closing his notebook. “We need help. We need someone who knows what they’re doing. I’m pretty sure we found everything that we could find on our own. Can we start contacting some historians from your list now? Or some… archivist? I don’t know, I don’t care. Just… someone who knows something about proper research. Because you’re doing all your wacky ghost data collecting and you’re great at that, but it’s okay to ask for help for things we aren’t naturally good at.”  

Niall sighs loudly.  

“Niall -” Harry starts saying, ready to agree with Zayn, to defend his position.  

“Yeah,” Niall agrees with another sigh. “In the new year… I got some names we can try then.”  

“Good.”  

*

“So,” Harry says, looking at Gemma through his computer screen. They’ve talked since their fight, of course they’ve talked, but he can’t help but feel like things are still a little awkward, that even though she’s been supportive in every phone call and every text, there is a part of her that is still judging him. 

“So?” Gemma asks, face still buried in her article research. She scratches her head, making her bun wiggle.

“So, you’re coming for Christmas, right?” Harry asks awkwardly. He knows she’s coming for Christmas. She always comes for Christmas. It’s not even a question, but things have been weird lately between them and Christmas is Christmas. Christmas can’t be weird between them.

She frowns, pushes the papers away and leans on her forearms, getting her face closer to her laptop’s camera. “Am I coming for Christmas?” she asks with a grimace. “Really?”  

Harry shrugs, letting his gaze fall on his keyboard. He lets himself slip a little further down on his bed. “I’m just curious. Mum hasn’t said.”  

“Mum hasn’t said because she knows I’m coming. Have I ever missed the holidays since I’ve moved away from home? Have you?” Gemma argues, fiddling with her pen.  

“I guess not.”  

“Ask what you want to ask, H.”  

Harry sighs. “Fine. Are you still mad at me?”  

“Yes,” Gemma replies automatically. She rolls her eyes and slides her pen through her hair, trying to make sure her bun isn’t falling apart. “No.” She licks her lower lip. “I don’t know.”  

“Helpful Gems. Very helpful.”

“Well, are you still… hunting.” She says it like the word itself is hurting her, like it scratches at her throat painfully, like just thinking it makes her angry.  

“You know I am,” Harry whispers.  

“Yeah, I know you are. I don’t have to like it, but I like you.”  

“Oh you _like_ me,” Harry replies with a small laugh. “Thanks, that’s great.”  

“I love you, you fucking dumbass. I worry, and I think your friends are weird, and that you might be having a psychotic episode. So, I’m keeping an eye on you whether you like it or not. But no… I guess I’m not mad anymore.”

Harry sighs in relief. “That’s good. That’s really good. I don’t want us to be at odds at Christmas. I don’t ever want us to be at odds, but that’s just unrealistic considering how stubborn you are.”

“How stubborn we both are,” Gemma argues.  

“Exactly.”  

“I’m not gonna yell at you in front of the tree if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“And I promise not to try and and steal your presents, then subsequently try to pull your hair when you get them out of my hands.”  

Gemma laughs. “God, you were a real brat.” 

*

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Harry asks Louis a few days later.

Obviously, he knows that Louis is either going to be in the ether, or wherever it is he vanishes to when Harry isn’t here, or he’ll just roam the manor’s halls by himself. And he also knows that asking about holidays traditions at the manor isn’t going to help him solve the mystery that is Louis Tomlinson’s presence here in front of him, but… He cares. Harry cares and he wants to know. He wants to know what Louis loves best about the holidays, and what he loves least, and what his family does.

“What do you mean?”

“What are your plans? What are your family traditions?”  

“What are yours?” Louis says automatically, still a bit guarded no matter how much progress they’ve made in the past few months.  

“Food, family, trying to steal my sister’s presents to see how angry she can get,” Harry enumerates them nonchalantly, smirking when the last one makes Louis laugh.  

“Well, I am a much better person than you, because my Christmas doesn’t involve thievery. It will, however, involve food, and family, and presents. We’re having a ball for the servants between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, as well. Oh, and a little luncheon for my birthday on Christmas Eve.”  

Harry perks up. “It’s your birthday?” he asks. He can’t believe he hadn’t realised. He’s seen a version of the Tomlinsons’ family tree for Christ’s sake.  

Louis hums awkwardly. “Yeah, it is. Little Christmas miracle, my Nanny always said.”  

“I bet,” Harry whispers. “Can I come see you?” he blurts out. “On your birthday, I mean.”  

“Oh,” Louis blushes. “I thought you were going back home for the holidays.”  

“What?” Harry asks then his eyes widen as he realises what he previously said. “No, it’s… Not this year. I’ll be… around, if you want me to come. I’d like to come. Just to wish you a happy birthday.”  

“It’s going to be a very busy day, Harry,” Louis says sadly. “I don’t think you can come without anyone noticing you. There’s going to be a lot of people for lunch and -”  

“I’ll come later then!” Harry argues. “Please. We’re friends. I want to wish my friend a happy birthday.”  

Louis sighs. “I suppose… If you come right after dinner, I could escape for a bit.”  

“Don’t pout, you love an adventure just as much as me and you love secrets.”  

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t love secrets,” he declares. “I do love adventures and mischievousness, so I suppose you can come if seeing me on my birthday is somewhat important to you, not that I understand it.”  

Harry smiles. “You heard the part where I said we’re friends, right?”  

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I heard you.”  

“Good. Then, I’ll be there.” 

* 

Two days before Christmas, Harry makes his way to the library by foot, the tips of his fingers freezing where they’re holding the bags carrying the gifts he spent all morning wrapping. He shivers as he pushes the door open with his shoulder, smiling when he walks in and sees the tiny fake tree Zayn and Niall are busy decorating.  

They’re standing around Zayn’s desk arguing about what to put on top of the tree, because of course, they are, Niall waving a star frantically.  

“Am I interrupting something?” Harry singsongs just to see the way they break apart, Niall’s cheeks turning a dramatic shade of red.  

“Nope,” Zayn says nonchalantly, smirking as he watches Niall passing a nervous hand through his hair, then start fiddling with his glasses, wiping them on his shirt.

“Hey, Harry,” Niall says with a wave, still holding the star.  

“Hey.”

“Did you bring presents?” Niall asks, turning back towards the desk to put the star on top of the tree while Zayn is distracted.

“I did. I brought presents, and I brought cookies I made with mum and my sister.”

“Oh, that’s nice, you should have invited her!” 

“She still thinks I’m having a nervous breakdown, or that you two are manipulating me into some cult-like thing, so I decided not to ask her,” Harry explains, dropping his bags next to the desk. He kneels down and starts grabbing presents, putting them around the tree one by one.

“Yeah, maybe we could do this without,” Niall winces.  

“Did you wrap our gifts with newspaper?” Zayn asks, looming over Harry’s body.  

“Recycling power!” Harry replies, pumping his fist.  

“It’s cute,” Niall says, “I like the little drawings on top as well”. 

“I know I’m a horrible artist, but I thought they’d be funny.”  

“They are, they are.”  

“Alright,” Harry shrugs, grabbing his cookie plate. “Cookies?”  

“Yes, please!” they both say enthusiastically, stealing the plate from his hands.  

“Cookies, then gifts,” Niall says with his mouth full as he starts digging in his backpack for his own presents.  

“I didn’t get you anything,” Zayn shrugs, before winking.  

“Yeah, right,” Niall snorts. He looks at Harry’s confused expression, then smiles. “Last time he didn’t get me a Christmas gift was when we were nine years old. And he felt so bad, he gave me a huge best friend forever card on Valentine’s Day.” 

Harry coos, reaching for Zayn’s cheek to pinch it.  

Zayn pushes him away with a frown. “I was nine,” he argues. “And I know better, now.”  

“But you brought me a gift, no?” Niall says matter-of-factly.  

“Yes. Okay? I got you a gift.”  

“Good. We’ll start with that one.”  

“Why are _you_ getting your gift first?” Zayn argues.  

“Stop that, he’s a five years old on a sugar high,” Harry argues, pointing at what must be Niall’s fifth cookie in a span of three minutes. “Let him have his gifts first. Here, open mine,” he adds, throwing the box at Niall’s face.  

Niall tries, and fails, to catch it, watching it drop to the floor with a pathetic pout.  

“I hope it’s not fragile?” he says as he bends down to get it.  

“I wouldn’t have thrown it to you if it was, I’m not stupid,” Harry replies while Zayn grins.

“Ha. Ha.”

“Go on, open it." 

Niall doesn’t need to be told twice and by the time Harry has taking off his jacket and his beanie, he’s already destroyed the package, tiny bits of newspaper surrounding him. He takes the t-shirt out of the box and starts giggling as soon as he reads the _Keep Calm and Let the Ghost Hunter Handle It_ caption.  

“Harry!” Niall says happily, wrapping him into a crushing hug. “I love it! Everyone at the YPGHS is gonna be so jealous!”  

“Do they know?” Harry asks when Niall finally lets go of him. He can’t believe he hasn’t thought to ask before now.  

“Know what?”  

“About Louis, the manor… What we’re doing?”  

“Oh, of course not. I mean, they know I’m working on a project, and they know it involves you guys, but I haven’t said anything specific. I didn’t want to until we started getting concrete results.”

“And we’re still pretty far from that.”  

“Yes Zayn, I know. You think it’s not gonna happen. Can you pretend to believe for five seconds since it’s Christmas? That can be my gift.”  

“Are you saying I got you a gift for nothing?” Zayn scoffs.  

“Here,” Harry says, handing Zayn his gift.  

“You got me something?”  

“Obviously?” Harry replies with a laugh, frowning a little in confusion. “Didn’t you get me something?”  

“Well, yeah, but we didn’t say so…” 

Harry shakes his head. “Just open it, will you?”  

Zayn shrugs as he starts unwrapping his present. When Harry turns to look at Niall, he laughs when he sees he’s taking his shirt off to try on his new one.  

“So, you’re happy then?” Harry smiles, pleased with himself. 

“To be honest, I’m never taking it off,” Niall says, hugging himself once he’s actually put it on.  

“He’s not joking,” Zayn adds, finally opening the box his present is in.  

Harry bites at his index nervously, unsure of the choice that he made. No matter how much closer they’ve been getting, he still finds Zayn ridiculously hard to read.  

“What is this?” Zayn asks, turning the book around to read the summary.  

“It’s a poetry collection. Some of my friends from uni, lit majors, they wrote it and self-published all together… I figured you might be interested? And I love supporting my friends’ projects. It’s really cool.” 

Zayn starts laughing while Harry rubs at his neck, gaze lowering to his feet.  

“Listen, I can always give it someone else if you’re not interested,” he mumbles.

  
“No! No. It’s not that, it’s just…Hang on.” Zayn reaches behind his desk, grabbing a red parcel. “Here,” he says, handing it to Harry. “It’s a book. Leonard Cohen poems. I was just laughing ‘cause we basically gave each other the same gift.”  

Harry smiles and grabs the box without opening it. “Thanks, Zayn.”

“Here,” Zayn continues, grabbing a second package and throwing it at Niall.  

"What it is with you guys and throwing stuff at me, Jesus,” Niall mumbles.

“S’not fragile, so don’t worry if you drop it,” Zayn teases.  

“I caught it, didn’t I?” Niall says defensively. “What is it?” he adds, shaking the box next to his ear. He stops after a second, choosing to destroy his second box of the evening instead. Inside is nestled the most adorable ghost plushie Harry has ever seen.  

“It’s for your car,” Zayn explains, looking a bit embarrassed. “For your dashboard.”

Niall smiles, eyes sparkling, and he reaches for Zayn, wrapping him into a hug and hiding his head into his shoulder. “I love it. Thanks, babe.”

He doesn’t seem to notice the endearment slipping it and Harry smirks when he sees Zayn’s fingers tightening their grasp on Niall’s shoulders. They really need to do something about that.

“Alright,” Niall says, pushing Zayn away quickly and grabbing his own two gifts. “Here,” he says, handing them two identical boxes wrapped in paper with snowflakes in the colours of the Irish flag on it.

  
“Beautiful presentation,” Harry teases when he gets his.  

“Right? I bought it online,” Niall beams, nodding at them both to open the gifts, before grabbing another cookie.  

Harry smiles when he sees the book inside.  

“It’s all the basics,” Niall explains. “I know you’ve read some pamphlets and books I’ve given you and all, but this is really the ghost hunting 101 Bible, so I figured you’d be interested.”  

“Thanks,” Harry replies, putting it away as he notices a second gift in the box.  

“That’s really pretty,” Zayn says, holding up a cute leather notebook with a flower engraved in it. “Thanks, Niall, I was almost done with my other one.”  

“Yeah, I saw,” Niall shrugs, but the second Zayn looks down inside his box to grab his second gift, he grins to himself, clearly pleased that his gift was received so well.

Harry smiles and goes back to his own gift, giggling when he realises it’s a framed photo.

“I know it’s not as pretty as the pictures _you_ take,” Niall quickly says, gesticulating nervously, “but I figured it’d be a nice souvenir.  

It’s a selfie Niall took of the three of them a few weeks back, all of them grinning in the manor’s hall.   

“Thanks,” Zayn says and he’s holding the exact same picture, a small smile on his face.  

“It’s a great gift,” Harry adds. “And it’s a great picture.”  

“I’m glad you like it and Happy Christmas.” 

Harry opens his arms to wrap Niall in a hug. “Happy Christmas,” he replies. “Thank you.”  

Zayn rolls his eyes before joining the hug, slamming into them abruptly and starting to tickle Harry. 

“Hey!” Harry giggles, squirming away. “Rude.”  

“Leave him alone, honestly,” Niall says, putting his hand on Zayn’s bicep and pushing him away. “Wanna head out to the pub?” he offers.  

Harry nods. “Yeah, definitely. Zayn?”  

Zayn winces. “Can’t. We got our Christmas reading for the kids tomorrow morning, so I gotta get up really early to set things up.”  

“Oh, okay. Well, see you soon, yeah?” Niall replies.  

“Sure.”  

* 

They’re at the pub a few hours later, when Harry finally gives in to the urge to ask Niall what he’s been curious about since that first meeting in the church basement.  

“What's up with you and Zayn?” he says through a mouthful of crisps, interrupting Niall’s speech about the latest recordings from the manor.  

It’s something about Electromagnetic Fields and Spiritual Residues. It’s a breakthrough, apparently. The first time his wretched Paranorsomething machine has given an actual signal, an actual reading that indicates ghost activity. Or so Niall says, Harry thinks. He’s had a few fruity drinks already, so he’s a bit fuzzy on the details. He feels loose and ready to talk about the boy that his friend likes. Not stupid ghosts. Not stupid pretty ghosts with amazing cheekbones. Harry can’t talk, or think, about those.  

“What do you mean?” Niall asks, closing his ipad, hiding the charts and numbers Harry was pretending to understand.  

“I mean… You’ve got that whole Austen bickering thing going on,” Harry says, wiggling his eyebrows on _bickering._  

“What?” Niall asks. “What is that supposed to mean?”  

Harry snorts at his own joke. “Extremely sexually charged,” he declares   

“What?” Niall squeaks, looking around the pub like Harry said the most offensive thing anyone could ever say and he has to make sure no one heard. “No, we don’t,” he denies, pushing his glasses up his nose with a gulp.  

“Yeah, you do,” Harry singsongs, grabbing the tiny blue umbrella from his drink. “This is almost the exact shade of Louis’ eyes when it’s raining. S’just a tiny bit paler than his are, but still.” Harry puts the umbrella behind his ears, then he pouts at his empty glass. “My drink is gone.”

“You’re drunk and you’re talking nonsense. I’ll admit to the bickering, but that’s it. It’s just bickering, nothing else. Especially nothing Jane Austen.” 

“So you’re saying he’s not your Mr. Darcy?” Harry asks with a wink. 

“What the fuck are you doing with your face?” Niall asks with a laugh.  

“Winking.”  

Niall snorts. “Well, at least you’re trying. And don’t be stupid. Zayn is not my Mr. Darcy.”  

“A man who deeply disapproves of your lifestyle,” Harry says, raising one finger into Niall’s face. “Yet, he’s deeply in love with you?” he continues, adding a second finger. “Very attractive, but with poor social skills?” he finishes with the last finger, wiggling them in front of Niall’s eyes for emphasis.

Niall pushes Harry’s hand away with a huff. “I’ll tell him you said that by the way, that thing about him having poor social skills.”  

“Uhhhhhhhh, please do! It might shake him up.” Harry burps, then frowns at himself. He had a point here. He was supposed to making a point. “So, you’re saying that you don’t have feelings for Zayn? That he doesn’t have feelings you?” he says, getting back on track.  

“Of course, I have feelings for him, but… it’s complicated. We…” Niall just gestures vaguely, cheek reddening a bit.  

“Wait, you guys are hooking up?”  

Niall shrugs.  

“Oh my God.”  

“Sometimes,” Niall admits. “We don’t really talk about it. It’s … you know. Complicated. I mean, why did you think he comes to the YPGHS meetings?”

Harry grimaces. “Stubborn desire to prove you guys wrong?” he asks before waving his glass to the old man managing the bar.  

“That, and flirting.”  

Harry gasps. “That was flirting?”  

Niall laughs. “Yeahhh, he’s pretty bad at it. But give him a break, he’s trying,” he says softly, a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. It’s properly disgusting. And sweet.  

“So… you’re a couple?” Harry asks, starting to feel a bit giddy. All this time, he thought he’d have to push them together, to open their eyes, but they’ve been there all along.  

“No, of course not. We’re just… It’s complicated.”  

“You’ve said that before. Three times in fact. Must be really complicated.”  

“It’s quite simple in fact,” Niall admits while Harry receives another drink. “We’re together, but not really, but we both want to be together, but we don’t talk about it.”  

“So talk about it,” Harry says around his straw. “You’re lucky. You can be together. Just gotta talk about it. Me and Louis, all we do is talk. It’s great. Lots of talking. So many words. S’like… he knows me, you know? And I know him. We truly know each other. I don’t think anyone has ever known me before. Maybe Gemma, but it’s not the same when someone like him knows you. It’s different. It’s…” Harry trails off with a deep sigh. He grabs the umbrella from his drink and puts it behind his other ear. “And you and Zayn! You know each other too. And you touch each other. That’s great. You should talk as well as touch.”

“You’re really pissed, aren’t you?”  

Harry looks up and pouts for a second. “A little bit,” he finally agrees. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right about you and Mr. Darcy.”  

“Don’t call him Mr. Darcy.”  

“I will if you say I’m right.”  

“Nevermind,” Niall replies, stealing Harry’s drink.  

“Hey-”  

“You’ve had enough,” Niall says as he slurps it loudly. “I’m the one who has to walk your drunk arse back home, so back off H.”

“You could call Mr. Darcy. To pick us up,” Harry argues, wiggling his eyebrows for what feels like the thousandth time this evening. Hopefully, Niall will get the subtle message and talk to his lover.  

“Mr. Darcy - I mean Zayn!” Niall corrects himself when Harry starts to grin, “doesn’t have a car. And he’s not using mine, not after the 2015 epic fail.”  

“What happened in 2015?” Harry asks.  

Niall laughs, shakes his head, then takes the straw off Harry’s drink before finishing it in one big gulp. “I’ll take that to my grave, but that man is not driving my car.”  

Harry starts snickering.  

“What now?” Niall asks as he gets off his stool and starts helping Harry get off his.  

“I’m just imagining Mr. Darcy being bad at horse carriage driving in the novel,” Harry explains, hiding his face in Niall’s shoulder while he helps him put his jacket on.  

“Okay, off to bed now Mr. Styles,” Niall whispers, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist, supporting him as they start walking towards the door. “Put those last two on my tab George?” he calls towards the bar.  

“Louis knows me,” Harry whispers when they finally walk outside. He shivers. “He… knows me, Niall.”  

“I know H,” Niall says reassuringly. “You just gotta sleep this off.” 

*

“You’re late,” Louis says, leaning on the gate, looking down at his pocket watch. He closes it swiftly, looking like a vision, like a dream, more than ever.  

“But I am here,” Harry argues, panting a little from running up the hill in an attempt to make sure he would be on time.  

Louis had been very specific about the time window he could use to escape from his dreadful relatives and his siblings’ constant attention on the day of his birth.

“Lucky me,” Louis replies, and Harry suspects it was meant to be mocking, but he just sounds pleased. “I get you and snow on my birthday.”  

Harry smiles, noticing for the first time the little snowflakes on Louis’ shoulders, the ones following the patterns of the freckles on his cheeks. It’s not snowing in real life, the sky a clear dark blue without a cloud, but Louis’ reality is so strong that his spirit manages to be affected by the weather he thinks is real. Niall is going to be freaked when Harry tells him.  

“Yeah, very lucky you,” Harry replies, leaning on the gate next to him. They stare at each other for a second, wearing matching smiles. “Happy birthday,” he whispers.

“Thanks,” Louis says with a nod.  

“Did you have fun at your posh little luncheon?” Harry asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Louis snorts. “It was alright. A lot of my parents’ friends, and some impertinent cousins.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun, the way you tell it.”  

“There was a bit of a… fight, between two of the impertinent cousins before they came here, apparently? So, they spent all lunch furiously whispering at each other. I was right next to them and I have no idea what it was about, but Isabelle is really furious.” Louis chuckles. “It was actually quite funny. I think they were trying to hide it from their mothers. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t stab each other with their forks underneath the table.”

Harry smirks. “Maybe they did and you just didn’t notice.”

Louis laughs and clicks his tongue. “That would explain the limping.”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, giving Harry a small fond look that makes his cheeks burn. “I’m kidding,” Louis says slowly. “Obviously.”

“Well, now I’m disappointed. I thought you had a juicy story.”

“Whispered fights at the dining table? That’s not juicy enough for you?”

“Meh,” Harry shrugs. “Every family has whispered fights. Aristocracy isn’t special for it. That’s just being a family. I’m sorry they fought on your birthday, though. That mustn’t have been nice.”

“It’s alright. Things are looking up.”

“Are they?”

“Well, my friend is here and there’s snow.”

Harry looks down, avoiding Louis’ gaze. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes snow. Seems a bit messy and cold for you, I’m surprised.”

“Lottie and I used to play in the snow with the Butler when we were little and our parents were away. Nanny let him do it, even though she probably shouldn’t have. We’d go to the woods, or in the village. It was always… special. Lottie doesn’t really remember it, but… I guess I’m fond of it now. And the manor always looks lovelier in the snow, don’t you think?”

“Like a fairy tale castle,” Harry whispers, looking up at the house and imagining it. Imagining it light up, sounds of laughter and music coming from the inside, the snow falling slowly around and on it, covering the house in a magical glow. Yes, it must be beautiful.

“Messed up fairy tale,” Louis mumbles.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. I have to go, or they’ll send in a search party.”  

“Already?” Harry pouts.

“Yeah, but thanks for coming. That was nice of you.”

“It’s your birthday,” Harry replies with a shrug. One hundred and sixteen years ago, Louis was born. It’s hard sometimes for Harry to remember that fact, to remember that it was this long ago. He’s doing research to figure out how Louis died and still, it’s hard, sometimes, to remember.  

* 

“What the hell is that?” Anne asks, one morning in early January when Harry comes back from his very first knitting class.

Harry pouts. “It’s a hat,” he replies, proudly showing her his project.

“You’re making a hat?”

“A beanie,” he grins, shaking the grey mess he is, actually, surprisingly proud of.  

“Shouldn’t you start with something simple? Like a scarf? A square?”

Harry frowns, dumping his coat on the stairs railing and joining his mother in the kitchen.

“A square?” he asks, looking at her like she’s completely insane. “What do you want me to do with a square?”

“Well, eventually if you have enough squares, you could sew them into a blanket,” Anne replies, handing him a mug. “Tea?”

“Thanks,” Harry replies, sitting down next to her and taking the tea. “I can make a beanie. Mrs. Wilcox let all of her students decide what they want to make first, and she said a beanie was a good idea. I can totally make a beanie.”

“Of course you can, I don’t doubt that. I’m just surprised. The first thing I ever knitted was a scarf, I assumed that’s what most people did, that’s all,” she replies.

“Well, Mrs. Wilcox thinks that people should make whatever they want,” Harry says petulantly, grabbing his tea and his project.

“Good for her,” Anne says with a laugh as he disappears in the stairs.

“I can totally make a beanie,” Harry tells himself once he’s back in his bedroom. He looks at the vague lump in his hand. “You’re gonna be a beanie,” he adds firmly. “A pretty one.”

*

The next day, Harry brings the wool mess to the library, planning on practicing while they discuss which historians from Niall’s long list they’re going to call. Once he actually gets inside though, Niall and Zayn are acting even weirder than usual. Zayn is at his desk, nose buried in the notebook he received at Christmas, pen flying easily on the page. Whatever it is he’s writing about clearly has got him inspired and Harry simply raises an eyebrow when his cheerful greeting remains unanswered. Niall, however, is lying on his stomach, biting at the top of a red pen and staring down what looks like a complicated chart. Harry says hello to him too, but again, he is thoroughly ignored.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, taking off his coat and his scarf.

He slips out of his boots and reaches inside his bag, fumbling through the books and his lunch to get to his knitting project. He looks up just in time to catch them glancing at each other.

“Are you guys okay?” he asks, walking towards Niall and sitting down next to him. “Did something happen?” he adds in a whisper.

Niall doesn’t say anything. Instead, he slides the chart towards Harry, allowing him to look at the names and specialisations written on it.

“Those your historians?” Harry asks, deciding to drop it. Niall will talk when he’s ready to talk.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. He turns his head to look back at Zayn and Harry notices that the smirk in the corner of his mouth.

Harry narrows his eyes.  

“Have you called any of them?”

“Uh?” Niall asks, looking back at Harry. “Who?”

“The historians? Have you called any of them?”

“Oh,” Niall says with a small laugh. “Yeah. A couple.” He looks at Zayn again.

“And?” Harry asks insistently, frowning and shaking his head at Zayn. “What?” he mouths silently at him, only to see him looking down at his notebook again, ignoring both Harry and Niall.

“And nothing,” Niall says with a shrug. He grabs his chart again, pointing at the highlighted names. “All the orange ones said no.”

“They didn’t want to help?”

“No time or we’re not offering enough money…” Niall trails off and Harry knows he’s about to look at Zayn again, obsessed with him as he is, so he grabs his shoulder.

“Or?”

Niall sighs. “One of them said I was a raging lunatic.”  

“You told them about the ghost?” Harry asks with a laugh. 

Niall blushes and turns to look back at Zayn again.  

“Okay,” Harry sighs, shaking his head at both of them. “What is up with you two? You’re being weirder than usual.”

“Nothing,” they both say, too fast and too coordinated.

“Did you have a talk?”

There’s a small moment of silence before Zayn speaks up.

“Yes.”

“Are you boyfriends now?”

“Yes,” Niall replies sheepishly, but with sparkling eyes.  

“Then what are you doing giving each other tragic looks from a million miles away? I thought the awkwardness would stop once you’d talk to each other. We have work to do here people. We still haven’t found Doris Tomlinson, or Ernest Tomlinson’s address to contact him. We still don’t even know how, or when, Louis died! And you’re busy… flirting or… whatever this is.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Zayn argues. “I’m writing and he’s working and that’s it.”

“We’re working,” Harry declares and he grabs his beanie, starting to knit. “We’re all working together. Now stop being ridiculous, and sit with us. And Niall, stop telling historians we’re chasing ghosts. What the hell, man?"

Zayn sighs and rolls his eyes as he walks around his desk and sits on the floor on the other side of Niall’s body.

“That’s exactly what I said, ” he replies with a sigh, stroking Niall’s back with one hand, the other holding his notebook. “I mean, who calls a historian and tells them they’ve spoken to a ghost. Especially when they haven’t, actually.”

“That’s not what I said,” Niall argues.

“Oh, I was there,” Zayn says, “that’s exactly what you said. You called…” He reaches over Niall to grab the sheet and squints at it. “Dr. Cowell and said _I’ve seen a ghost and I need help figuring out when he died exactly. Can’t ask him that might shock him into vanishing!_ Then you laughed, and I’m not talking about your cute laugh, I’m talking about your deranged laugh.”

“He hung up on me,” Niall tells Harry sadly.

“He was a jerk,” Zayn adds, giving Niall his chart back before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “A massive jerk, but we should still work on our strategy.”

“Maybe I should be the one to call the next one,” Harry suggests, dropping his knitting and stealing the chart.

“I can call them,” Niall pouts, trying to reach for his list.

“Clearly, all this orange indicates that you can’t, honey.” 

“I’m calling the next one,” Harry declares, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans for his mobile. “James Corden?” he says, reading the next name that has no colour.

“He’s an archivist,” Niall exclaims. “Works in Manchester. He has a Ph.D. and everything. His specialisation is the 20th century.”

“Good,” Harry nods, dialling the number and shushing both of his friends when the phone starts ringing. “Hi, hello. I’m looking for a James Corden? Hi, Mr. Corden, my name is Harry Styles and I was wondering if you would be willing to help my friends and me in a research project…”  

*                          

“So, what do you do for fun?” Harry asks one afternoon as the sun starts to set. He widens his eyes when he sees Louis’ confused expression.

“Fun?” Louis asks, puzzled. Harry should know better by now than to gobble up whatever he says but he can’t help himself.

“What?”

Louis giggles, a bit mocking, just as Harry figured he would. “I’m kidding,” he replies. “Although, my responsibilities as the heir do keep me busy.”

“I thought aristocrats did nothing all day,” Harry teases. He knows better, now. He knows what Louis carries on his shoulders. “Just…. Bathe in their riches and self-importance,” he continues, liking the way Louis rolls his eyes and pretend to be offended, fiddling with his clothes to make himself look sharper.

He scoffs, gaze dropping to the ground. “I wish,” he replies wistfully and Harry gulps uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like he struck a nerve without meaning to. He thought they were having fun.

“I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” Louis gestures dismissively. “Times are difficult for Estates like this one, it’s my job to ensure it’s survival, and my family’s.

“Your family is going to survive whatever happens to the Estate,” Harry argues and he doesn’t really get it, truth be told. They studied this period and Stately Homes at school, but he never really understood the attachment to them. No matter how many times Louis says it, no matter how his eyes sparkle when he mentions his family’s land, Harry doesn’t understand.

“No,” Louis denies fiercely. “A family like ours, we couldn’t survive without it. Oh, of course, they’ll always be a Tomlinson to hold the title, but neither of my parents could bear the shame of losing the land of our ancestors. So I don’t have a lot of free time to devote to _fun_ ,” he admits. “I read a lot and I talk to our lawyer and the agent to make sure we have a plan in place and that we’ll stay here.”

“Would it really be the end of the world, though? Losing the Estate?” Harry asks because he might not have found out everything about the Tomlinsons’ future, but he sure knows things aren’t going to go Louis’ way. It’s just another one of those things that Harry can’t tell Louis, another one of those secrets that sits uncomfortably on his chest and he has to swallow down to stop himself from blurting. Not now though, not yet. Louis is not ready to learn he’s dead, although to be fair who ever is? But more importantly, though, Harry isn’t ready yet. He’s not ready to let go of this version of himself that takes pictures for fun and hangs out with a smart charismatic man. He’s not ready to let go of Louis himself. Louis who has so many layers it’s overwhelming but who Harry is enjoying discovering more and more each day. And it’s frightening him, as time moves on, that he’s starting to feel like this. He’s going to have to be honest at some point, he’s going to have to let go, to let Louis go, and he’s not ready. But today is not the day. Today, Harry gets to look at the way the sun shines over Louis like a halo, making him shimmer like the otherworldly being that he is.

Louis still hasn’t replied. He looks lost in thought, and a little bit angry, his hard stare fixed on Harry’s face.

“Would it be the end of the world for you to lose this?” Louis asks, pointing at Harry’s camera and he automatically frowns in response, unsure where Louis is trying to go with this.

“It’s not the same, though,” he argues, shaking his head a little, putting a protective hand over the case.

“Isn’t it?” Louis replies, raising an eyebrow. He sounds emotional, passionate, and Harry should have known this question would bring out this side of him.

“This camera is my career,” Harry argues. “It’s my passion, my art.”

“It’s a part of you, no?” Louis asks, and of course, he’s right.

Harry nods sheepishly. “You know it is,” he whispers.

“The Estate is part of us, the manor is part of us,” Louis continues and he sounds calmer now, not as angry like he knows how to explain it perfectly. “It’s been in my family for decades, generations of my people have roamed those halls. Every single Tomlinson has left its mark in it and it’s left its mark in us. When I walk those stairs I feel the weight of their legacy.”

“Isn’t that terrifying, though? Isn’t that just…. Crushing?”

“That doesn’t matter, Harry! Where would my parents go? My siblings? It’s our home and I would do anything to save it.”

There’s something in his tone that changes then, a new bitterness that wasn’t there before and suddenly Harry shivers uncomfortably.

“What do you mean?” he asks, dreading the answer. He knows it’s stupid to, considering. Whatever Louis is talking about has long passed, it’s a memory of a life he is no longer living so it shouldn’t matter. But Harry considers him a friend now, someone who understands him like no one else ever has, and even though he’s no longer alive to make those mistakes, Harry doesn’t want any bad things to touch him. Even if those bad things are memories long gone.

“We might have found a way,” Louis explains curtly.

“What way?”

“An engagement. Marrying somebody wealthy could solve all of our problems, and my parents are eager to secure a good match. There’s a lot of rich Americans in London…”

Harry can’t help but feel fury surge violently in his lower belly. “So what? They’re just going to sell off one of your sisters to the first rich Americans that catches their fancy? They’re still young Louis, children almost! You can’t let them do that, they’re not property.”

“My sisters?” Louis asks, with a frown. “No, my sisters aren’t getting married. I am.”

Harry gulps. Louis hasn’t said anything explicitly, but Harry never had the feeling that he had ever been interested in the ladies his parents have been pushing his way for years. Harry doesn’t feel like it’s his place to ask, but the thought that he’s finally giving in now, out of sheer desperation to save his family’s heritage, his family’s honour, is making him feel slightly nauseous.

 _It’s just memories_ , he mentally reminds himself, trying to cut off his feelings on the matter. What does it matter if Louis is planning to get married? He’s been dead for decades.

“I… uh…” Harry feels his cheek redden, in embarrassment, in anger, and he clears his throat, trying to think of the best way to approach this. “I thought… I thought you weren’t… interested in that?” he ends up saying hesitantly, licking his lower lips before giving Louis a quick side glance, fingers digging into his thighs. He hopes that if he’s wrong, Louis won’t pick up on what he’s hinting at.

He risks another side glance, noticing the way Louis has tensed next to him, his entire body stiff and rigid, his cheeks flushed.

“Well, I have to be now,” Louis replies tersely, effectively ending the conversation, and it’s not confirmation, exactly, but Harry has seen the way Louis’ eyes wander, gaze heavy with something urgent and familiar. There’s no point in opening this can of worms though. Harry knows it’s only going to hurt him.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, feeling various levels of awful. He can’t imagine it, living like this.

“You disapprove,” Louis says softly, eyes fixed on the grass.

“No, I just…” Harry shrugs, trying to find the word. “I just have a hard time imagining a building being worth this sacrifice, that’s all.”

“I told you-”

“I know,” Harry interrupts quickly, tersely. “I know, you told me and you explained, but to be honest… I don’t get it. Your family’s legacy is more than a couple of bricked walls and dusty paintings.”

Louis laughs and rolls his eyes. “Our butler would skin you alive if he heard you say those things,” he replies and Harry isn’t sure how he manages it, this delicate balance of formal and fond. “Implying the manor is anything but impeccable? While they work so hard to make sure there is no dust at all? You’d be publicly hanged if he had a say in this. Maybe even flogged before it, if he were feeling particularly cruel.”

Harry scrunches his nose. It’s hard to remember sometimes, that what Louis sees and what he sees are two completely different things, different worlds really. Louis sees the manor as it was in all of its splendour and its glory, the precious setting of so much history and grandeur. Louis sees the home he grew up in, the home his ancestors built, a palace of riches beyond the materialistic, corridors of fond memories. He sees it as he saw it when he was still alive, a preserved history in his consciousness. Harry sees the decayed version, a house that hasn’t been a home for so long it’s forgotten it was ever one. Harry sees beyond the glamour and the nostalgia, beyond the history. He sees abandonment, and he sees failure. There’s beauty there too, the sorrowful kind that reminds us of what used to be and no longer is. He sees the cracks, the crumbles, and it’s difficult to fathom that Louis might never know. That he might haunt this hall with pointless hope forever. When Harry tries to imagine how Louis died, he feels guilty for wishing it were before the family lost the Manor and the Estate, but he can’t imagine Louis’ disappointment when he learned. He doesn’t want him to have died young, but at the same time, the thought of his face falling, the thought of his guilt, the thought that he might have married some American heiress only to fail… It’s almost unbearable.

“My apologies,” Harry replies, “but you know what I mean.”

“I know you’re purposefully misunderstanding me,” Louis argues.

“I am not,” Harry snaps back. “I disagree, it’s not the same.”

He’s not sure why Louis is being so obtuse, but it makes him feel on edge, uncomfortable in his skin because he knows more and that feels wrong. He has more information than Louis and he’s right, he knows he is, but there’s nothing he can say to fully explain it. Short of, _yeah you’re dead and that Manor has been empty for over fifty years._ Harry might be getting angry and irritated, but even he is not that callous.

Louis huffs, giving Harry a dirty look. “It’s not like it’s something someone like you could understand.”

Harry feels his cheeks burn and he fiddles a little bit with the fabric of his trousers. They’re vintage, properly so because he made an effort for this, him and Niall they made an effort for Louis, and he knows they don’t look that great but that was the look and the character he was going for. He’d known Louis to be a pompous, rich ass from the start, but today is the first time he’s actually starting to act like one.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks even though he knows exactly.

Louis doesn’t reply straight away. Instead, he silently lets his eyes roam the length of Harry’s body, his clothes, his shoes, his camera, his hair… He looks at him like he knows anything about his story, about who he is as a person. Well, he can try to make assumptions and guess, Harry thinks bitterly; he’s always going to fall short. No matter what Harry has said in the past few months since they first met, Louis is always going to fall short, is always going to be missing important puzzle pieces.

“It means this is beyond you,” Louis chooses to say. “I’m not saying it to be cruel, but this is not the kind of issues you’ve ever had to worry about. My family’s history is the most precious thing I have, and its legacy is my lifetime’s work.”

Harry gulps. Harry hates the word legacy, hates the way it haunts and taunts him as he sits there day after day, wondering about his purpose and his trajectory. He doesn’t know where he’s going and here’s a man like Louis, who might not have freedom but who knows exactly what he wants to accomplish. Harry isn’t quite sure if he envies or pities him.  

“Aristocrats don’t have the monopoly on worrying about their legacies.”

“That’s not what I said,” Louis argues quickly, raising his hand, trying to stop Harry but he’s too angry and too worked up to let him speak.

“Just because their lives are insignificant to you-”

“I never said that!”

“Just because they don’t have big names and titles and a history spanning generations of pretentious arses -”

“Harry, I never said any of that,” Louis interrupts through gritted teeth.

“People worry about the meaning of their lives and what they’re going to leave behind, no matter their statuses. Either you can’t see that or you purposefully don’t want to, and I’m not sure which is sadder,” Harry finishes angrily.

Louis stays silent for a few seconds, either because he doesn’t have a clever comeback or because he’s surprised by Harry’s outburst.

“I know that,” he finally says in a whisper, in a breath. “I’m not trying to deny them, or you, when I say that. I’m just saying it’s not the type of pressure you know. You don’t have somebody telling you that the entire future of your family, that your sisters’ lives, are in your hands, that if you refuse to do this one simple thing everything, your whole world, is going to fall apart. And I can tell them we could buy another, slightly smaller, less expensive house, but they don’t care. They were born here and they want to die here, like their parents, their grandparents, their great-grandparents and who am I to deny them? I can’t be that selfish.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry replies. It’s a noble endeavour he supposes, but it’s hard to see things clearly when he’s seen the deed of sale himself. “It’s not fair.”

Louis smiles ruefully, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “Not everyone can live for themselves.”

“They should,” Harry replies passionately, reaching for Louis’ hand for a second before remembering how highly inappropriate it would be to touch him like that. Besides, it’s not like he actually could, and he’s pretty sure his heart would break the second his fingers go through Louis’ like they’re not there. He’d rather save himself the heartbreaking realisation.

“How very naive and idealistic of you,” Louis replies, blue eyes sad and bare, letting Harry see whatever he wants in them, letting him read into Louis’ soul.

“You should get to choose whatever life you want.”

“There’s no point talking about it,” Louis argues before clearing his throat and for a second Harry has the horrifying thought that he might start crying. “My life is this. It’s privileged, and I have no cause for complaint.”

“Louis, you can’t possibly mean that.”

“But I do.”

“Look, if you have to think that to make yourself feel better then I understand, but you don’t have to ever pretend with me. I know it’s unfair and it’s infuriating and I’m offended and appalled on your behalf, so if you want to get angry or get upset, you can. I’m here for you.”  

“How very selfless of you,” Louis replies, a hint sarcastic.

“That’s… not it at all Louis. I’m not trying to be selfless; I’m trying to be your friend. I thought we were…”

“Of course!” Louis interrupts quickly, shaking his head at himself. “The situation is frustrating it’s true. I won’t pretend I’m fully satisfied by it, but I know my duty. Still, it’s not an excuse to take it on you when you’re being supportive. I apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Harry whispers. “Not to me.” 

*

“Have you talked to Corden this week?” Harry asks Niall a few days later, trying to appear as casual as possible.

Niall frowns. “No, he said he’d call us when he found something. Why?”

“No reason,” Harry says with a shrug. He goes back to his knitting, biting his lower lip as he makes sure not to lose any stitch.

“H,” Niall says warningly.

Harry huffs. He squirms on his bed, wiggling his toes in his fuzzy socks. They’re waiting for Zayn to join them so they can drive two towns over and catch a movie, and the only thing he can think about is Louis Tomlinson’s engagement. Louis Tomlinson’s forced potential engagement that happened years and years ago, and that really shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Harry shouldn’t care. He knows he shouldn’t care, yet, ever since they spoke, it’s like his brain keeps making his way back to it. Louis Tomlinson is sacrificing his happiness to ensure the survival of his family’s legacy. He’s sacrificing his happiness for a big fat nothing, for a building whose current owner takes no pride in, for mouldy walls and empty rooms. It’s sickening. And still, Harry doesn’t have the courage to tell him.

“I was just… I was wondering if we could ask him to look for information about Louis’s marriage, or engagement.”

“What?” 

“He told me he’s probably getting married to some heiress to save the Estate. I mean, we know it’s not going to work, obviously, but… I just thought maybe it could help to find out what happened to him,” Harry explains, dropping his beanie on the bed with a small sigh.

Sickening.

“They’re looking at American heiresses,” he adds, keeping the bitterness away from his voice, “someone with money to save the house and the land.” 

“That’s the only reason?” Niall asks knowingly and somehow, somewhere in those past few months, he’s started being able to read Harry a little too easily.

“What do you mean?”

“You want James to look it up because you think it’s a lead to find out what happened to him.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies defensively, crossing his arms. “That’s what I just said.” 

“Alright,” Niall nods. “I’ll write him an email with those … clues of yours. See if he can dig something up.”

* 

The next Wednesday, Harry enters the manor behind Louis with his heart thumping violently in his chest, unsure whether he wants to talk about what happened at their last meeting, or whether he hopes that they’ll ignore Louis’ troubling confession.  

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Louis admits in an embarrassed whisper, setting the tone for the day. “I thought… I thought you would be weirded out.”  

“I’m not,” Harry denies even though he is a bit, weirded out and upset and unable to admit why yet. “I just don’t like it.” It feels like he’s saying too much already, but he can’t keep the disapproval in.

“You think I’m going to be using a poor woman,” Louis replies bitterly. “For her fortune and her name, just… using her to save face and some stupid bricks that you don’t like and-.”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts firmly as they slip into the dining room. “I like your stupid bricks. And I don’t think you’re gonna be using some poor woman,” he says, making quotation marks with his fingers and rolling his eyes. “And if you are gonna be using some poor woman then, that woman is gonna be using you right back. I mean, your family name means prestige and a good position so whatever random American you end up with, she’s gonna want that. I don’t feel too sorry for her. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I don’t.” Harry sighs shakily. “I don’t like it,” he continues, slow and confused, “because I don’t…” He stops and takes a shy breath. “I don’t think it’s fair. I’m not judging because it’s not my place to judge, but I really don’t like it. Saving those bricks, as you said, it shouldn’t all be on _you._ ”  

“Well,” Louis laughs, his fingers dancing on the table, leaving no prints in the dust, “it is.”

Harry huffs, then he smiles sadly. “You’re not even the Earl yet. It shouldn’t be on _you_.”

It might be stupid, but suddenly, Harry feels like crying.  

“My dad can’t get married to save our Estate, but I can,” Louis declares, solemn and braver than Harry would be in those circumstances. “And it’s my job to do it. I don’t have to get up in the morning and work on a field until exhaustion settles in my bone. I don’t have to manage a shop, or repair cars for a living. I do have to take care of this place to make sure the people who live on this land have a place to stay and the people who work here in this house still have a job. That _is_ on me. I wish you could get that.”  

Looking at him like this, impossible and dignified, Louis doesn’t feel like an echo. He doesn’t feel like a ghost, like a forgotten piece of history. He feels like a boy, a man, who is carrying too much on his shoulders and Harry can’t help him. He matters to him, yet Harry can’t help him.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not sure what he’s actually apologising for. “I don’t get it. I really don’t.” 

“It’s okay,” Louis replies sadly. “I didn’t expect you to. Not after the other day.”  

Harry waits for a beat before shrugging. “Who are you marrying anyway?”  

“I don’t know yet. We’re going to London for a bit, there are a couple of American families who are organising balls at the end of the month so…”  

“You’re gonna go shopping for a wife.”

Louis smiles, eyes cold and empty of emotion. “Something like that,” he whispers to himself. “It means you can’t come here while I’m there,” he adds a little louder with a stern voice. “It’s not that I don’t trust you to take pictures alone, but I’m not gonna be there to defend you if you’re caught. So just… stay away for a couple of weeks, okay?”  

“A couple of weeks?” Harry asks, heart squeezing. “But-”  

“Please.”  

Harry gulps. “Sure. Of course.”  

* 

Thus begins the longest two weeks of Harry Styles’ life.  

On the first day, Harry figures he’ll keep himself busy. Between meetings with Niall and Zayn, knitting classes, and the two Skype job interviews he’s managed to schedule, he imagines time will fly easily and he’ll barely notice he can’t go see Louis. After all, they haven’t known each other that long and Harry had a life before the manor. 

By the fourth day, he feels like he’s going slightly insane. No matter how many things he does in a day, no matter how he busies himself, no matter how many pictures he takes, and how many rows he knits, Louis is always on Harry’s mind.  

He’s short and snappish; monosyllabic with his mum at breakfast, and exasperated with his friends anytime they so much as mention the manor. Which, considering the nature of their research, is every freaking day. He’s irritated and irritating, in a constant foul mood that he can’t seem to shake. So much so that even he can’t stand himself, some days.  

It’s just… Harry can’t stop picturing it, is all. Every night, he lays in bed and sees it in his mind with terrifying clarity. The ballrooms, the excess, the luxury, the pretty gowns, the delectable food… All those Americans fawning over Louis, giggling into his shoulders and touching his arms… There’s probably dancing involved and one night at the end of the first week, Harry spends an agonising two hours imagining Louis’ delicate hand pressed against the curve of some random heiress’ waist, his thumb digging into silky materials, his thin wrist contrasting with the rest of his muscular arm.

He can hear her annoying laugh, high and musical, as she touches Louis, really touches him, and even though Harry knows, rationally, that he made her up, he hates her more viciously than he’s ever hated anyone in his life. He imagines Louis’ crinkly eyes. He imagines Louis’ laugh. He imagines Louis’ pretty blue eyes, offering all those women his sole focus, and he hates it all.  

He buries himself in work, reads pages and pages on ghosts and ghost hunting, writes down questions to ask Niall.  

He knits. He knits. He knits.  

He finishes his first beanie, then makes a second, and a third. He starts a scarf for his mother, then starts thinking about trying to attempt a more complex project like a sweater. Mrs. Wilcox is pleased everytime he goes to the grocery store to show her his progress, commenting happily on each piece and saving his lost stitches whenever hiccups happen.  

And still, Louis and that faceless, irritating, American won’t leave his mind.  

And he knows it’s been years. It’s been decades. It’s past and gone, a moment that’s so old that there’s probably no one left alive to remember it. And still, Harry feels his heart tighten every time his thoughts wander.  

He sees a couple kissing on his way to the library in the middle of the second week and his hand flexes uncomfortably, his breath stuttering as he thinks about Louis and his future - past - wife. His frown deepens when he walks in and he sees Niall and Zayn pressed together against the books in one corner of the library, Zayn’s hand loosely holding Niall’s glasses as they kiss lazily. He sighs, closing the library door with a loud bang behind him, hoping he’ll never have to see anyone else kiss in his whole entire life.  

Zayn chuckles as they separate, putting Niall’s glass back on his face softly then pressing a small kiss on his nose. 

“You okay H?” he asks, turning away from his boyfriend.  

“Fine,” Harry snaps, dropping his bag loudly on one of the tables.  

“Someone misses Louis,” Niall singsongs teasingly. 

“That has nothing to do with anything.” Harry sits down, reaching inside his bag to grab the book Niall gave him for Christmas. He’s more than halfway through, currently reading about poltergeists and their effects on this dimension. He’s been taking a lot of notes in this particular chapter, trying to understand how Louis manages to interact with the world while simultaneously not; a paradox as complex as Harry’s feelings.  

“Sure,” Niall giggles, tangling his fingers with Zayn’s and walking to the table. “He’s your bff and you like him and you miss him and -” 

“Will you drop it?” Harry hisses slowly.

His comment is met with silence and Harry sighs after a beat.  

“I’m just tired okay, I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

It’s not even a lie what with all the nights he’s been spending tossing and turning, haunted by the thoughts of Louis and all his unattainable skin, Louis and the lucky women for whom everything is possible. 

When he gets out of the shower that night, a towel wrapped around his head and toothbrush in hand, Harry sighs deeply at his reflection. 

“You have a problem,” he whispers to himself, unwilling to admit more out loud.  

* 

The Wednesday after Louis comes back from his London adventures is tensed and awkward. Harry asks to photograph the Red Drawing room again instead of greeting his friend, too nervous and worked up to pretend like he isn’t affected by what Louis told him.  

They make their way to the house in silence, Harry’s throat closing up every time he thinks about asking Louis how things went. Instead, he doesn’t say anything, eyes fixed right in front of him and fingers clenching around his camera.  

When they finally walk into the room, Harry takes off his coat and starts taking pictures of his favourite armchair, still pretending that Louis isn’t there, pretending like he doesn’t care.

“I…” Louis clears his throat and Harry risks a small look towards him.  

He closes his eyes when he notices the way Louis is holding himself, hesitant and uncomfortable, both hands hiding in his jacket, his back stiff.  

“I guess I’ll leave you to it then,” Louis says in an empty voice.  

“You’re leaving?” Harry gasps, turning around to face his friend.  

“I don’t think you want me here, right now. You said you weren’t judging me a few weeks ago, but I can see that your position has changed and that’s fine. I understand. I’d still rather not wait here in silence while you think about the various ways you think my family is sick for requiring this of me, while you still use us for your own benefit,” Louis explains defeatedly, gesturing to the camera Harry is still holding.  

“What?” Harry asks, carefully placing the camera on the armchair and taking a step towards Louis. “No. That’s not… My position hasn’t changed Lou! It hasn’t, I swear! I…” Harry sighs. _I’ve changed,_ he wants to say, desperately. _Things have changed._  

“Really?” Louis says bitterly.  

“Of course!” Harry exclaims. “Do you think I care about some stupid photos? Do you really think that’s why I’m still here?”  

Louis’ face falls.  

“I’m here for you, because of you. And I can’t stand the thought -” Harry cuts himself off, shaking his head. He starts blinking rapidly, willing himself not to cry. “I just know that this is a difficult situation, and I worry.”  

“You worry?” Louis asks, disbelievingly. “About me?”  

“Yes,” Harry replies with an eye roll. “Like. Obviously. I was worried, okay? Two weeks is a long time and I know you didn’t want to go and I just… I don’t even know how to ask you about it.”  

 _Almost a hundred years ago_ , Harry repeats to himself as he takes a deep breath, trying to remember that this isn’t really happening. This isn’t happening for Louis right now, he’s just remembering. It’s not a life or death situation, the Estate isn’t actually living on borrowed time. It’s been dead all along, just like Louis, and Harry can’t ever forget that. No matter how easy it could be when Louis looks at him like this, with soft, vulnerable eyes and the hints of a pleased smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Have you ever been in love?” Louis asks and for a second Harry worries that Louis’ trip was too successful, before remembering that none of it matters.  

His eyes still widen. “I…” Harry stutters for a second, remembering his ex, remembering falling in love and falling out of love, remembering the snow melting against Louis’ freckled cheek. “I think so,” he sighs after a moment, struggling to keep his distance.  

Louis hums, eyes fixed on his feet, his back straight and his fingers tightly tangled.  

“Have you?” Harry asks, wondering absently if that’s what hurt Louis so badly that he couldn’t move on and leave, wondering if that’s what messed up the Estate beyond recognition.  

“No,” Louis whispers. “Sometimes, I feel…” he stops himself and shakes his head, offering Harry a tiny chuckle. “Nevermind.” 

“Tell me, please.”  

“It’s just not in the cards for me. It’s not realistic. People like you can marry for love, you can fumble and make mistakes, take someone out on a date without worrying about status…” Louis trails off, no doubt thinking about all the Americans he’s met and has to woo, the ones his parents think could save the Estate.

Harry wonders for a moment if he’s imagining things when he notices Louis’ use of _someone_. Not girl, not woman. Someone. It’s not the first time he’s noticed what Louis isn’t saying explicitly, but there’s no way for him to ask.  

“You don’t know that,” Harry replies, trying to be encouraging, the words clawed as they crawl out of his throat.  

“They picked one, you know?” Louis declares. “An American heiress? They picked a favourite one. I had little say, but I hear her family is very rich so that’s good at least. She’s coming to the house for the summer with her parents. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be engaged by the end of August.”  

“Louis,” Harry sighs.  

“I haven’t had the chance to get to know her much,” Louis admits with an eye roll. “But then again, I suppose that’s why she’s coming." 

“She might be lovely,” Harry says, the words empty even to his ears. “It might not be love at first sight, but… eventually, you two might be happy together."

Louis chuckles darkly and Harry _knows._ He doesn’t need to be told to recognise the certainty on Louis’ face that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never want her.

“Maybe,” Louis says after a while. “Maybe.”

*

Harry’s birthday passes without much fuss. He turns twenty-two to a surprise visit from his sister and the two of them drive to Manchester, spending the day in the city with some of his uni friends and the evening at a local show. He knows Gemma is just trying to remind him of the life he used to have and could have again soon instead of fantasies, but he appreciates the thought all the same. He’s happy to hang out with people who mean, and have meant, a lot to him, even if he feels a bit disconnected from them.

They’re eating ice cream in the middle of the night, sitting on the hood of Gemma’s car before they start driving back to Hillsbridge when she starts asking questions again.

“Are you still planning on moving back here?”  

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.”  

“How can you not know?” Gemma asks with a huff. “You’ve been sending CVs, no? Or was that a lie.”  

“It wasn’t a lie,” Harry says with a lick to his cone. “I’ve had a few interviews, but…”  

“But?”  

“It wasn’t the right fit.”  

Gemma sighs. “You’ve graduated last spring and you’ve been unemployed since last summer, I don’t think you can get too picky Harry.”  

“I know what you’re trying to do, Gems.”  

“Good,” Gemma says with a nod before leaning towards him to ruffle his hair. “I’m not trying to be subtle.” 

“You have a one-track mind.”  

“Yeah. So? Manchester?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…” He gulps. “I’ve been mostly looking at things I could do from home, to be honest.”  

“Pardon?”  

“Yeah, like… jobs that I could do from Hillsbridge.”  

Gemma laughs, a hint nervous. “What the fuck?”  

“I like it there, mum and Robin were right. It’s peaceful and pretty, and my knitting classes are going really well. Mrs. Wilcox thinks I’ll be able to progress to a lot more complex patterns soon, and like… Niall and Zayn are thinking about getting a flat together eventually and they said they wouldn’t be opposed to a flatshare so -”  

“Harry, do you really think that’s a good idea?” Gemma asks carefully. “You barely know them and they’re -”  

“Can’t you just support me? Can’t you just say ‘that’s cool that you’re happy there’? It’s my birthday, can’t you just say that? I don’t want to move back to Manchester, alright? I’ve done that before. Now, I’m doing something different. I don’t wanna go backward, Gemma.”  

“And not going backward is staying permanently in the tiniest village known to man, hunting ghosts with a bunch of weirdos?”  

“For now, yeah? And looking for jobs! There was a listing for this cool website that’s looking for a photographer, it’s like… photos of products and they say they can mail them to you wherever so I applied. We’ll see if I hear back from them."

“But that’s not the kind of photos you’ve always wanted to take though?” Gemma says, sadly, like making adjustments and changing your mind is the worst thing a human being could do. 

“So? I’ll always be able to take the kind of pictures I like. I’m taking the kind of pictures I like right now. And I’m still working on that project about the manor. I’m thinking, if I get enough information, and Niall and Zayn agree, we could totally write a book together. Wouldn’t that be neat? Everything about the Tomlinsons is scattered, and Louis is so great that he deserves a whole book. And the way he talks about his family makes me think they deserve a whole book, too. I mean, getting published isn’t necessarily easy, but I’ve looked into some local editors and I think we might be able to get some support.  

“You’re actually serious about this?”  

Harry smiles. “Yeah? Of course. It’s interesting and…” he trails off, unsure how he’s supposed to explain that the shakiness of Louis’ voice when he talks about his family legacy is so moving that he can’t help but want to dedicate himself to ensure its survival, despite having only met one of its members. Somehow, he’s not sure Gemma could ever understand the impulse. And if she did, he fears she’d be way too worried about him to have compassion.   

“And?” Gemma asks.  

Harry shrugs, then grins goofily. “I don’t know,” he chuckles. “But we found this really cool archivist and he’s been doing research for us, so we might be able to actually contact one of the living relatives about what happened there. We could learn so much from them, it’s gonna be great.”  

“It’s gonna be great to contact some poor old bloke about a dead relative and tell them you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you can see him?” Gemma asks. “Sure. If you say so…”  

“Gemma -”  

“I’m kidding,” she interrupts before he has a chance to protest. “It is a cool idea. I guess it’s just not something I ever imagined you doing. You’ve always been so interested in fashion and art… I always pictured you photographing for some edgy magazine, the weirdest, but coolest editorials, you know?”  

“There’s art in history, too,” Harry argues. There’s art in the way Louis’ eyes light up when he tells the story of one of his naughty ancestors, still stubbornly claiming his family has no black sheep. There’s art in the way the manor stands proud and imposing, a symbol of a lost era. There’s art in the way Harry feels when Louis smiles at him, even though he knows he shouldn’t let himself feel it. “There’s art in people, too,” he adds, clearing his throat.  

He lets himself slide off the car, walking to a nearby trash can and throwing away the last bite of his cone.

“You ready?” he asks. “It’s late and you have work in the morning.”  

Gemma grins. “I think I’m going to be sick tomorrow, too,” she replies with a pout. She coughs fakely in her elbow. “Such a shame.”  

Harry smirks. “Truly tragic. But that means we can go get some chips for the drive though.”  

“Well, since it’s your birthday, I guess we must!”

* 

A few days later, they skype James Corden for an update. His office is a surprising mess, books and papers and mugs of tea all piled up with incoherence that gives Harry a bit of a headache.  

“I have to say,” James declares once they’re connected, “that you lads did not pick the easiest place, or family, to get interested into.”  

“Oh,” Harry pouts, already disappointed. He knew it was too good to be true.

“Does that mean you have bad news for us?” Zayn asks, trying to squeeze himself between Harry and Niall to make sure he can be seen on the screen.  

“Is no news bad news?” James asks pensively, tapping a highlighter against his chin.  

“No news means there’s still news to be found,” Niall says optimistically, giving Zayn a dark look over his shoulder.  

“Alright, then there’s good news. I still haven’t found a single fucking thing!” James says in a cheery voice.  

“You realise saying it in a happy voice doesn’t make it less disappointing, right?” Harry asks, still unable to stop himself from smiling a bit.  

“Well, yes, but it can’t hurt. And actually, it’s not fully nothing. It’s about…. Half nothing?” James replies. “I couldn’t find anything about a marriage and boy have I looked! No Louis Tomlinson marriage, anywhere.”  

“We were looking for Louis’ marriage certificate, now?” Zayn asks suspiciously.  

“Well, yeah,” Harry replies nervously. “It’s probably tied to what happened to the Estate, right?” he asks James, eyes wide and nervous.  

James hums. “Yeah, probably. I mean, depending if he married before or after they sold the property. I have a couple of L. Tomlinson leads, but that might take a while because I need to check and double check each document. However, I did find the deeds of sale, I didn’t know if you had that?”  

Niall shakes his head. “No, we couldn’t find it!”  

“Yeah, those kind of documents are rarely available online, or if they are it’s for a crazy yearly subscription fee. Anyway, I’m going to scan it and send it to you, if you want?”  

“Yes, please!”  

“Good, but for your information, it was sold in April 1928. There’s a bunch of cool stuff on the official paper, I won’t spoil that for you,” James says in a funny voice. “Now, Doris Tomlinson! Good old Doris, she’s been a bit of a tricky one. I managed to track her up until her husband’s death, but then it’s nada. Absolutely no trace. I think she might have followed her twin Ernest to the US. I’m looking into it, but getting papers from American foundations and societies is a fucking nightmare. Sorry about the delays.”  

“You think she moved to the States?” Harry asks, surprised none of them had considered that option.

“Well, her husband died right after her brother moved and she had no children that we know of. It makes sense. It’s just an inkling… Twins, you know? They often stay close. Anyway, that’s all I have for you today, folks.”  

“Okay, I guess you were right,” Niall says, trying to stay optimistic. “It really is half nothing.”  

“But with the potential of becoming something?” James says with a laugh. “I’m emailing you the deed of sale and I’ll be in touch as soon as there is something more concrete, alright?”  

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, James, we really appreciate it.”  

“‘Course lads, no worries. See ya!” James says before waving them off and exiting the conversation.  

Harry sighs, closing Niall’s laptop.  

“Do you think it’s weird?” he asks after a second.  

“What?”  

“That we can’t find anything concrete about Louis?”  

“Weird how?” Zayn asks slowly.  

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know.”  

*

The first thing Louis does when Harry walks up to the gates that day is laugh. A full, open-mouthed, on hand on his belly, the other pointing at Harry’s head mocking laugh.  

“What on Earth are you wearing?” he asks once he’s finally caught his breath.  

Harry reaches his hand up to touch his beanie, the beanie, the very first one he made, his pride and joy.  

“It’s a hat,” he replies defensively.  

“That’s not a hat!” Louis exclaims, shaking his head. “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”  

Harry gasps. “That was rude,” he frowns, folding his arms across his chest. “I made that hat. It’s my first hat, and it’s pretty.”  

“Oh, love,” Louis replies, trying to hide his laughter. “It’s really not. It’s not pretty at all. It’s terrible.”  

“You’re such a jerk!” Harry replies, trying not to blush at the endearment. “See if I ever knit you anything!” he blurts out before he can think about it. He regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth and he gulps, fiddling with the grey lump of wool on his head, to try and forget that it can’t ever happen. He can’t knit Louis some comfy socks for the long winter nights or a beautiful blue sweater to match his eyes. He can’t even give Louis a hug, let alone a gift.  

“Oh, I definitely don’t want anything,” Louis replies with a smirk, quick-witted and sparkly eyed.  

“Fine,” Harry huffs, taking the beanie off and putting into his pocket. “I worked hard on this, you know. It was my first knitting project. I’ve only improved since then.”  

“Good,” Louis says, smirk still annoyingly in place. “It’s good that you kept going after such…” he trails off, lips pursed. “...tragic first results. Good for you though, that shows perseverance and resilience, both of which are honorable qualities.”  

Harry closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “You are such a shit head.”  

“I’m complimenting you and all I get is vulgarity in return, honestly it’s miracle I still allow you inside my home.”  

Harry opens his eyes to give Louis an incredulous look.  

“It’s a miracle I still come visit you.”  

“You love visiting me.”  

“Not when you’re rude about the fruits of my labour.”  

“Did you really work hard at it?” Louis asks, eyes narrowing in disbelief.  

“Yes!”  

Louis hums. “Well,” he says awkwardly. “You can only improve, right?”  

* 

“Will you two stop doing that?” Harry sighs with exasperation, determined to keep his eyes fixed on the page he’s trying to read.  

“Doing what?” Niall asks innocently.  

There’s no ruffling or moving sound which means he’s still perched on Zayn’s lap, which means they’re still cuddling and making pathetic gooey eyes at each other, which means Niall’s candid question is a lie.  

He knows what he’s doing. He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.  

“This,” Harry says, raising one eyebrow at them, barely looking up from his book. “You’re giggling, and cuddling, and making eyes at each other!”  

“You’re not even looking at us,” Zayn argues half-heartedly. He probably still has a hand in Niall’s hair. There were fingers coursing through Niall’s hair earlier, honestly.  

“I can tell, Zayn,” Harry sighs. “I can always tell, and I’m trying to read a book.”  

“What is this book, actually?” Niall says, and there are those moving sounds.  

“Nothing,” Harry says a bit too quickly, closing the volume he got off Amazon Prime on his mum’s credit card. “It doesn’t matter.”   

“That doesn’t look like one of mine, or the library’s,” Niall continues, walking from Zayn’s desk to where Harry is cuddled up on the floor near the bookshelves.  

“It’s just some personal reading,” Harry says, hiding the book behind his back. The last thing he wants is having to deal with the hassle of them figuring out what he’s doing.  

“Stately Homes and the Second Half of the Twentieth Century; The Rights and Wrongs of British Aristocracy?” Zayn says from behind Harry, making him jump with a gasp. He gets up awkwardly, long limbs fumbling, and grabs the book forcefully from Zayn’s hands, hating the way his nose wrinkles with suspicion.  

“Why are you reading that?” Niall asks, blocking his way out.  

“Yeah,” Zayn says, still behind him.  

“I’m just curious about the decline and fall of Stately Homes,” Harry admits. “I mean, isn’t that the center of our project, technically?”  

“That’s not why you’re reading this,” Zayn declares, and when Harry looks back at him, he seems serious and worried.  

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “It is.”  

“Harry,” Niall says, reaching for his shoulder. “You can’t help Louis.”

Harry chuckles nervously, shrugging Niall off and trying to escape the prison they’ve made of their bodies. “I know that,” he says and he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince anymore.  

“Harry, Louis is dead. I know he probably sounds real and looks real, but he’s dead. Whatever it is that he’s telling you, it’s already happened. You can’t change it. You can’t influence him, or help him,” Niall says very slowly in an irritatingly soothing voice, like Harry is somewhat messed up for doing some light reading, like intellectual curiosity is a fucking crime.  

“I -” 

“It’s really important to me that you know that, Harry.”  

“I do know that,” Harry says with a shaky voice. “I think I know that more than any of you.”

* 

Despite Niall’s warnings, Harry keeps reading the book. He learns all about how the most lucrative Stately Homes, the ones still inhabited today by the families they belonged to, managed to stay afloat in a time period where most of their counterparts fell apart dramatically. It’s hard reading, but he learns a lot, and what it mostly boils down to is accepting change and modernisation.  

“Have you ever thought about charging a fee for people to visit the house?” Harry asks one late afternoon in February.  

“What?” Louis says with a laugh. “Why would we do that? More importantly, why would anyone pay for that?”  

He looks completely puzzled, like the mere idea never even crossed his mind.  

Harry shrugs. “I dunno… It’s an interesting house? There’s a lot of history in it? All the furniture? The paintings? It’s a beautiful place and some people like beautiful things? They might want to learn about it? Think about the people in the village! They’ve lived their whole lives on the threshold of your home and most of them probably never set foot in it.”

“I don’t think so,” Louis says, shaking his head, still looking disbelieving. “I doubt anyone would be interested in _that_. Sounds like a very silly idea. What made you think of it?”  

“I was just thinking…” Harry sighs. No matter what Niall suspects, Harry knows that he can’t influence a life that has already ended. He knows that he can’t save Louis from his parents’ scheming and that he can’t change the past.  

Still, there’s a small part of him who thinks it can’t hurt to try, a small part of him that doesn’t feel like he can stay silent.  

“You look so serious,” Louis teases, “lighten up, Styles!” 

Harry smiles, unable not to when Louis is being carefree like this. “It’s just that I was thinking, maybe you wouldn’t need so much… American capital, if the House was self-sufficient?” Harry offers carefully.  

Louis’ smile drops, his face closing off. He makes a show of rolling his eyes before speaking. “Really, you thought of all that?” he asks sarcastically.  

“I mean -”  

“How much would you charge, then? To have strangers going through my parents’ personal belongings?”  

“They wouldn’t be going through-” Harry stops himself when he sees the dark look Louis sends his way. “I don’t know,” he adds in a whisper. He wasn’t expecting Louis to get angry.  

“I appreciate the sentiment Harry, I really do, but do you have the faintest idea of how expensive a house like this one is to maintain? Do you even know how many people would need to want to visit it for us to even begin to be in better financial standing?” Louis sighs frustratedly, passing his fingers through his hair. “We have a plan. _I_ have a plan!”  

“Ruining your life is not a plan,” Harry mutters.  

“I think that’s hardly your business,” Louis snaps. “Maybe you should go,” he adds before disappearing himself. 

“Louis!” Harry cries out desperately. He lets his head fall into his hands, then kicks at one of the armchairs. “Fuck,” he whispers when his foot throbs with pain.  

Niall is never going to stop mocking him for this footage. 

* 

The next time Harry goes to the manor, he gets to the gate with a sheepish look on his face.  

“Hey,” he tells Louis with a small wave. 

“Harry, I’m glad you came back.”  

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Harry asks.  

Louis shrugs. “I wasn’t so sure. I did ask you to leave after all.”  

“Well, lucky for you I’m extremely stubborn. And I owed you an apology.”  

Louis deflates. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. I was incredibly rude.

  
“No,” Harry replies, shaking his head. “No, I was out of line. I already said my piece on the subject and insisting like that? It wasn’t okay. A true friend would support you,” he adds, voice wavering on the word _friend_.  

“You were just trying to help,” Louis whispers.

“Yeah, I was,” Harry whispers with a nod. “ Might have been a bit misguided though,” he adds self-deprecatingly, mind wandering to the Deed of Sale he’s now seen with his own to eyes. There’s nothing that can save Hillsbridge Manor. Not Harry’s half-hearted plans. Not even Louis’ sacrifice.  

“Just a bit,” Louis chuckles. “Honestly, like people would want to see our house,” he says fondly, shaking his head at Harry. 

“You’d be surprised.”  

*

Harry and Zayn have been sitting together for almost an hour when Niall finally shows up, looking shaken.  

“You’re late,” Zayn says teasingly, grabbing Niall’s arm to kiss him on the cheek. “Are you okay?” he adds when Niall doesn’t even smile at him.  

“Did something happen?” Harry asks, studying the abnormal paleness of Niall’s face, the shakiness of his fingers. If he didn’t know better, Harry would think he’d seen a ghost, but there’s not enough jumping up and down for that to be the case.  

Niall nods. “Yeah,” he says, slow, eyes out of focus. “Something happened.”  

Harry and Zayn exchange a confused look, Harry’s heartbeat quickening with worry.  

“Don’t look so tragic,” Niall teases weakly, and he is still shaking. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just Corden found Doris. He was right, she’s in the States, like Ernest. She remarried, that’s why we couldn’t find her death certificate, you know? She’s still alive, and she took her second husband’s name. I guess James is better at this than we are. Makes sense, archives are his job.”  

“But…” Harry stops himself for a moment, trying to understand why Niall look so distraught.  

“That’s good news, right?” Zayn says, putting a supportive hand on Harry’s arm as he takes over. “She’s the last one, right? We found all the other siblings, so it’s great.”  

Niall laughs at the question. He nods, still laughing, and suddenly there are tears running down his cheeks as he cackles almost hysterically.  

“Babe, what’s going on?”  

“Sorry,” Niall replies, shaking his head, still while laughing. “I’m sorry. It is, you’re right Zayn. It’s good news.”  

“Then why are you being…” Harry opens his mouth, trying to find the words. “Like this?” he finally asks with a defeated sigh.   

“You’re scaring me,” Zayn adds. “What’s wrong with James finding Doris Tomlinson?”  

“Absolutely nothing. It’s what she had to tell me that’s really…” he suddenly stops laughing.  

“What?”  

Niall huffs. “It’s really something."

“Niall,” Zayn says, a bit stern, but mostly worried. He grabs Niall’s hand, softly tangling their fingers together. “C’mon darling, tell us what’s going on.”  

Niall inhales deeply and looks on, straight into Harry’s eyes.  

“Louis Tomlinson is still alive.”  

 


	3. Spring

No matter how many times he repeats it to himself in the next few days, it doesn’t magically start making sense.  

Harry hasn’t gone back to the manor since Niall’s revelation, hasn’t been able to face Louis with the weight of what Niall has found out hanging over his head. It’s the first time he’s missed one of their meetings since they started, and it feels wrong, but he’s too… confused, too overwhelmed, to see Louis yet. Whatever he is, whatever it means.  

Because Louis Tomlinson isn’t dead. All this time they’ve spent looking for what happened to him, all those hours wasted at the library, all those trips to the Yorkshire Historical Society, all those damn pages he highlighted… All the lies he told while he was trying to get himself ready for the big reveal… It was all for nothing because Louis William Tomlinson is still fucking alive. 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, turning around on his bed and hiding his face into his pillow. His head hurts, and his heart hurts, and nothing makes sense. 

He knows he can’t keep ignoring the boys and reality for much longer, but it just seems easier this way. Because he got used to the idea, you know? It hurt to think of Louis as someone who was gone, but Harry was used to it. He was used to Niall’s ghost babbling, and Zayn’s skepticism, and Louis’ ignorance of the whole fucking thing. And now? Now he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know what it means.  

He only has Niall’s voice in his ears repeating what Doris said over and over again, like maybe if he goes over the scene in his head one more time, it will stop being so confusing.  

 _“What?” Zayn laughs, and of course, he laughs even though Niall’s joke wasn’t particularly funny._  

 _“That’s not funny,” Harry declares, feeling a bit sick. He misses Louis sometimes. He’s the only person in the world who can see him, but he misses him because he knows that Louis is dead. Niall can’t come in like this and start sputtering nonsense. It’s not fair._  

 _“I know,” Niall replies with a bitter chuckle. “I know it’s not funny, but it’s the truth.”_  

 _“Doris told you that?” Zayn asks, brows furrowed and both hands joined against his face. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think he was praying._  

 _“Yeah.”_  

 _“Well she’s old,” Harry argues. “I mean, fuck. How old is she? She’s probably just confused as hell. You called her and you… you confused her.”_  

 _“He’s not dead,” Niall insists. “She’s not confused, Louis is still alive.”_  

 _“Stop saying that,” Harry says through gritted teeth, tightening his right hand into a fist against his knee._  

 _“It’s true! He’s in a nursing home in Doncaster. Has been there for the past few years.”_  

 _“Niall, he can’t be alive,” Zayn tries to argue rationally in a soft voice, rubbing his hand soothingly against Niall’s forearm._  

 _“Do you think I want him to be alive?” Niall asks and for the first time since they’ve met, he actually sounds mean. “If he’s alive, this whole operation is a sham. If he’s alive… whatever Harry saw, if it’s his imagination or an echo, or… whatever the fuck it is, it’s not a ghost. It’s not a ghost and I’m nowhere closer to proving what I have believed in. So no, Zayn. I don’t want him to be alive. I think it’s pretty damn inconvenient that he’s still alive. I wish Doris was confused. I really, really do. But she’s not. He’s in fucking Doncaster, in a fucking nursing home, busy with being the second oldest man in Britain.”_  

 _Zayn and Harry exchange a look when Niall starts laughing again._  

 _“Finally, a corporeal apparition, and he’s born in 1900, you’d think that’s pretty safely a ghost. But no! He’s still alive, and according to his nurse some days his memories isn’t all that good, but overall…. Pretty healthy dude.”_  

 _“You…” Harry feels his heart skipping a beat, then accelerating, and for a moment he feels like he might faint. “You spoke to his nurse?”_  

 _Niall deflates, his shoulders falling and his face smoothing, exhaustion replacing anger. He shrugs and lets himself fall on Zayn’s knees, wrapping one arm around his boyfriend’s neck._  

 _“I didn’t believe her either, at first,” Niall admits. “Doris? I mean… There’s no way. Harry’s seen him. He’s talked to him. Besides, him being alive would mean he’s just… too bloody old. So I talked to her very politely, thinking she was a very confused, very old, woman. I hung up the phone, thinking that was that.”_  

 _“But?” Harry asks, voice shaky. He still can’t breathe, still feels like the room is closing in on him. Louis might still be alive._  

 _“But I had doubts, okay? Because she didn’t sound confused on the phone. She sounded… sharp and lucid. She was funny. Cracking jokes and talking about how little memory she had of the manor… So I called the nursing home she told me he was in. I thought they’d tell me they used to have a patient named that way, that he was long dead. I thought maybe we could visit, ask for copies of his paperwork. They’re not exactly supposed to give that to strangers, but I figured between the Irish charm and the connection to his sister, it’d be easy.”_  

 _“But?” Zayn asks, eyes wide._  

 _“This… secretary… nurse…. person…. She starts saying he’s having a nap right now and can’t talk, but that she can put the nurse responsible for his case on the phone, unless I wanna wait and call back a little later. ‘Cause he’s usually awake by three.” Niall snorts and shakes his head. “She was gonna put him on the phone? Like… that was nothing. Like it was just normal. Like Harry hasn’t been seeing his spirit for MONTHS NOW!” Niall ends with a yell._  

 _“He’s alive,” Harry whispers._  

 _“Yeah, your buddy is alive and there’s something weird as fuck going on. That’s the gist of it,” Niall replies bitterly. “And no ghosts for me.”_  

 _“Niall,” Zayn whispers warningly, and Harry would care about his friend’s rudeness if he didn’t feel like throwing up so much._  

 _He blinks slowly and he tries to get up, feeling like the world stopped for a second and realigned in a distressing, overwhelming, way._  

 _Louis is still alive._  

Harry is shaken out of his memories by the sound of his phone ringing, the sound of the Ghostbusters theme tune now irritating, when a mere few days ago it brought a smile to his face every single time.  

It’s Niall. Again. Harry sighs and pushes his pillow off his face and onto the ground. He fumbles around for his phone, scowling at it when Niall’s smiling face meets his sight. He grimaces and declines the call before curling himself into a comma and trying to fall back asleep.

Dealing with the ramifications of this can wait a few more hours, a few more days…

* 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, ignoring my calls like that?” Niall yells as he stumbles into Harry’s room.  

It startles him awake with a groan, and he grimaces at Niall with one eye still closed, pissed off that his nap is being cut short like this.  

“Go away,” Harry says, before closing his second eye.  

Niall huffs. “No. You’ve been ignoring my calls all day.”  

“Yes,” Harry hisses firmly. “All fifteen of them. Which, really, should have been a clue for you to leave me alone.”  

Niall rolls his eyes. Harry can’t see him, but he does this little exhale thing that only happens when he’s annoyed, so it doesn’t take too much to guess that he’s rolling his eyes.  

“I don’t really believe in that sort of things,” Niall says dismissively, letting himself fall next to Harry on the bed. 

He struggles a bit with the duvet, trying to unwrap Harry from it and get his share. They’re still fighting for the thing when Harry finally speaks again, a few seconds later. He’s out of breath a bit from the powerplay. “You mean social cues?” he asks mockingly. “Evidently.”  

“Will you stop moping!” Niall says, finally letting go of Harry’s duvet.  

He wraps himself a little tighter in it so that only his eyes show when he glares at his friend.  

“The world just… flipped,” Harry says sadly as he turns on his side, curling into himself. “Nothing is the same anymore. You’re mad at me and you think I’m crazy. And Louis…. He’s…” He gulps, closing his eyes for a second. “And I might have made the whole thing up. The whole thing, from beginning to end, and it’s just too much, Niall.”  

“Harry…” Niall says softly, passing his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I’m not mad. And even if I was mad, it wouldn’t be against _you_. But I’m not. I’m truly not. Okay, maybe at first I was,” he admits with a nod. “I was a tad upset because it changes things, but that doesn’t mean I think you’re crazy. Far from it. Zayn and I have been talking, while you were busy being rude and asocial, and we’ve actually started looking into what this thing could be.”  

“What?” Harry says, eyes widening. He sits up abruptly on the bed, the duvet still wrapped around his body like he’s some sort of human burrito.  

“Well… yeah,” Niall replies, following him up. “Did you think the investigation was over?” he asks with a chuckle. He rolls his eyes again when he notices Harry’s sheepish face. “Don’t be stupid, H,” he adds, ruffling Harry’s messy hair.  

“What have you been looking into?”  

“Just… some proper sci-fi stuff to be honest. Portals, and alternate universes, and time dimensions… All that bullshit, it’s wiiiiild,” Niall admits.  

Harry snorts. “Really?” he asks, skeptically.  

“Well, we figured… you actually talked to him, right? He gave you information that turned out to be accurate. That’s something that happened. You saw him, you see him, and he tells you stuff. I mean… What do you think it could be?”  

Harry shrugs, looks down at his blanket. “Dissociative identity disorder? Schizophrenia?” 

“I wouldn’t diagnose yourself quite yet. We think it’s something more… complex.”  

“And Zayn agrees to those theories?” Harry asks, looking up again just to punctuate his question with a skeptical raised eyebrow. 

“Mate, he’s the one who found most of the theories we have so far. It was kind of brilliant, actually. I’m discovering this whole new side of him. Time shit gets him going, I guess.”  

“Ew,” Harry grimaces. “I don’t wanna know that.”  

“Not like that you idiot. Just saying, he’s very enthusiastic about the possibilities. His eyes have been sparkling.”  

“Uh,” Harry hums. “Talk about a plot twist.”  

“He wants you to go see Louis again. He thinks to be honest, fully honest this time, might help. We could use his perspective on this, to know what it looks like from his side of history.”  

“You really think he’s been alive this whole time?”  

“Harry, we _know_ he’s been alive this whole time.”  

“N-no. No. I know that,” Harry stutters. It’s the overwhelming truth he’s been trying to deal with for the past few days. “I just mean… You really think that I’ve… been talking to him through time? That sounds so ridiculous.”  

“More ridiculous than him being a ghost? ‘Cause you thought that was insane, once.”  

“I suppose when you put it like that…” Harry shrugs himself out of the blanket burrito, letting it pool on his lap. “I’m not sure how I can tell him, though.”  

“We’ll figure it out. Zayn thinks… We think we should go see him too. Old him, I mean. The real Louis, the one in Doncaster.”  

“Oh,” Harry says quietly. He hadn’t even considered that.  

“So,” Niall asks, getting up from the bed and offering Harry a friendly hand, “are you in again?”  

Harry licks his lower lip, then nods.  

It’s not like he was ever going to say no.  

*  

Harry shows up to the manor the next day with nervous energy thrumming through his body. He fiddles with his bike far longer than he needs to, making sure that it’s stable against the gate as he tries to mentally prepare himself for the visit. He’s not expected. He missed his latest meeting with Louis, and now he’s showing up unannounced with more questions than ever before. Neither Niall nor Zayn know that he’s even here. They’ve discussed how to proceed, yet here he is, ignoring all that they’ve talked about because he needs to see Louis again. He needs to see Louis with his own two eyes, needs to understand what’s happening.  

He walks up to the house, fingers dancing on his thigh. When he gets to the door, he hesitates for a second. He hasn’t felt awkward about walking in the manor since the first few times he’s visited. Louis has always been there, waiting for him patiently at the gates like a miracle, welcoming him into his universe. Now… now everything is different, and Harry’s heart is beating furiously in his chest.  

He doesn’t knock, he just walks in, carefully looking into the foyer first until he’s satisfied that there’s no one there. 

“Louis?” Harry whispers, looking down at his watch. It’s still early enough that he probably hasn’t left for the day, but Harry has no idea where he’s hiding. He could be in any of those rooms and Harry’s head is scrambled with thoughts of portals and dimensions. There might be new rules now and Harry knows none of them.  

“Louis?” he calls again, this time a bit louder.  

The door to the red drawing room opens with a creak, making Harry jump. He sighs with relief when Louis’ body appears in the doorway.  

“Harry?” he asks, voice light and confused. He’s frowning.  

“Hey.” 

“What are you doing here?” Louis whispers, looking around frantically. “Come in, quick, before someone sees you.” 

Harry nods and runs to the door, stepping into the room without looking at Louis’ face. He keeps walking once he’s in, pacing around one of the armchairs.  

“You missed our appointment,” Louis says while closing the door, before leaning against it. He’s staring down at Harry with serious eyes.  

Harry stops pacing suddenly, facing Louis as he puts both of his hands on the back of the armchair.  

“You can’t show up here unannounced,” Louis explains sternly. “I know I let you off the hook all those months ago, but you really can’t walk in here like you own the place. Do you understand?”  

Harry means to reply, he really does. He means to apologize for standing Louis up, for barging in, for being unreliable. But when he opens his mouth, all the nervous energy he’s accumulated starts pouring out, disjointed, confusing. A disgusting, nonsensical speech that Harry has no control over.  

“You’re not dead,” he says with a laugh, and he can see Louis frowning, see the way he pushes himself away from the door, face twisting into a grimace. “You’re not dead. You’re not a ghost. And me? All this time... I was freaking out, you know? I was thinking… how the fuck am I supposed to tell my friend, this guy that I…” Harry stops himself, overwhelming feelings he can’t deal with on the tip of his tongue. “How am I supposed to tell him that he’s dead? But you’re not, aren’t you? You’re still alive. All this time, I wanted to find the best way to tell you to go into the light. I wanted to be strong enough to let you go, to be strong enough to tell you to go, but you’re not even a ghost at all!”  

“Harry -”  

“God, what are you?” he whispers, hungry eyes roaming Louis’ face, Louis’ body. “Have I gone mad?” he asks Louis desperately, not expecting an answer. “Is that it? Have I finally lost it?”  

Even though Niall and Zayn have established there’s something else going, even though they believe it firmly with their new science babble and their books, Harry can’t help the fear. He can’t help the little voice in the back of his head that’s screaming _everything you started to believe is wrong. You were wrong. It’s all wrong._  

“I…” Louis opens his mouth, then closes it. He shakes his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “To be honest,” he finally says slowly after a moment, “I thought _you_ were a ghost.”  

Time stops and they stare into each other’s eyes, the truth opened between them like a bleeding wound.  

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, shaking his head.  

“The first time I saw you, you disappeared,” Louis says pointedly. “You were right there, looking… abnormal, and then you vanished.”  

“You’re the one who vanished!” Harry argues. 

“Then, when I actually mentioned the house being haunted, you reacted very badly. Oh, you tried to hide it, but I saw the way you paled.”  

“I thought you were gaining some self-awareness!”  

“Not to mention,” Louis says firmly, pointing at Harry with his index before starting to pace, “there’s no Harry Styles born in the last fifty years. I checked the records. I double-checked. I called in favours. I hired a private investigator. He went to Holmes Chapel.”  

Harry frowns, then mumbles to himself. “I don’t know if I should be creeped out, or impressed.”  

Louis stops in his track, gives Harry a worried, overwhelmed glance, then he inhales deeply. “It just didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.”  

“Is that why you never tried to introduce me to anyone else?” Harry asks, suddenly understanding. “Your sisters? Liam?”  

Louis chuckles. “I’m having an inappropriate friendship with someone… Well, let’s just say that the fact that I thought you were a ghost was the least of my worry.” 

“Really?”  

“Maybe it was a bit of a factor,” Louis finally admits with an eye roll. “But just a bit.”  

Harry sighs.  

"So..." Louis frowns. "If we've established that I'm definitely not dead, and you're probably not dead -"  

"I'm also definitely not dead," Harry says stubbornly. “This isn’t the Sixth Sense, okay. I'm definitely not dead." 

“This sixth what?” Louis asks before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. How are you so sure that you’re not dead?”  

"Well, how are _you_ so sure that you're not the one who is dead?" Harry points out, even if he definitely knows that Louis is alive.  

"You're the one who came in here freaking out because apparently, I'm not dead, so both of us are convinced I'm alive. I'd say those are good odds." 

Harry huffs.

"Right, so if both of us are not dead, then how can we explain your strange disappearance. What is going on here? Who are you Harry Styles? If that’s even your name. 

"Oh, right. You don't know," Harry mumbles to himself.  

“I let you into my home, I told you my family’s secrets, I trusted you. So tell me what I need to know. Now.”  

"I'm from the future,” Harry declares, a weight lifting off his shoulders.  

It only lasts a moment, a second, because Louis snorts and gives him a disbelieving look as soon as the words are out of Harry’s mouth.  

“The future? Really? Don't you have anything better than that? It’s not very realistic, is it?” Louis says mockingly, arms now wrapped protectively around himself.  

“And ghosts are?”  

“Obviously,” Louis replies with tensed shoulders. “You being a ghost would explain why you vanished.”  

“Well, from my point of view,” Harry argues, walking around the armchair, “you’re the one who vanished!” He pouts and lets himself fall onto the chair, coughing in his elbow when dust rises in a cloud around him. “And I’m not joking. Or lying. I don’t understand how, or why, but I am from the future. I’m from the year 2017  if you want me to be precise. That’s how I know you’re not dead.”  

Louis huffs. “Well, now I know officially that you’re having me on. There’s no way I’m still alive in 2017.”  

“Trust me, no one is more shocked about it than I am. Second oldest man in Britain,” he declares, gesturing towards Louis. “Congratulations Lou, you’re unkillable, apparently.

Louis takes a few careful step forward, blue eyes piercing as he looks at Harry’s face attentively.  

"You're not laughing," Louis observes, the corner of his mouth turned down in disapproval.  

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the ‘p’ exaggeratedly.  

"So you're..." Louis gulps, starting to look a little green. "You're in 2017, right now. As you are talking to me."  

"Yes." 

“2017.” 

“Yes.”  

"I'm in 1925."  

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "I know that. You're in 1925. And I'm in 2017. And there's clearly something really fucking wrong with your house."  

They stare at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.  

"Oh my god," Louis mumbles putting his head into his hands. "This was a lot easier when I thought you were dead."  

"Believe me, I know."  

“Wait, why is this my house’s fault?” Louis asks, suddenly indignant. “The manor is blameless,” he adds with a pout.  

“Oh, stop it. You and this house, I swear to God!” Harry says with an eye roll. “Honestly, what else could it be? I don’t catch glimpses of your anachronistic arse in the village, do I?”  

Louis smiles at the vulgarity. “I guess not,” he replies, amused.  

“It’s only when I’m in here and you’re in here that this… well, whatever this is, happens,” Harry gestures between them.   

“Do you have a theory?” Louis asks. “Why is this happening?” 

“How am I supposed to know?”  

“You’re the one who said it was the house’s fault!”  

“My… friends have theories. Things about… portals and different dimensions, but… I don’t know.”  

“You told your friends about this? Who are they? Do they know about me?” Louis starts asking, hands flying to his hair. “Do they know about my family?”  

“I…”  

“I told you things, secret things, things I’ve never told anyone else and you just -”  

“Hey!” Harry calls, interrupting Louis’ panic. He gets up from the armchair. “My friends? They’re… ghost freaks, okay?  Well, one of them is. It’s how we met. I was new to the village and didn’t know anybody, then I saw you and you disappeared on me… I panicked. I thought I was going insane. Then I met Niall and he said he wanted to investigate, to prove that ghosts are real. So we did. We investigated. You and your family, and this big… fancy house that means so much to you. But I didn’t tell them personal things, okay? We’ve been doing research about your family, it’s true, but it was things like who your sisters married, and where they moved, and how many children they had,” Harry explains as he watches Louis’ eyes soften, the understanding of what it means for Harry to be from the future finally clear for him.  

“Okay,” Louis nods. “Okay. I’m sorry, I just…”  

“It’s fine,” Harry says softly. “I know.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “We’re friends, right? You and me, we’re still friends?”  

Louis rolls his eyes and reaches out to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder before stopping himself, a breath away from Harry’s body.  

“Of course we’re still friends. This is bizarre and deranged. There is a high chance that you and I are both crazy, but we’re in this together,” he says, lowering his hand and flexing his fingers uncomfortably for a moment before hiding it in his trouser’s pocket. “Now tell me about your ghost freaks and their theories.”  

Harry smiles, sits down again, then he starts enumerating Zayn’s long list of theories.  

*

"I can’t do this,” Harry says. He presses his head against the cold window and lets out a shuddery exhale, hoping the nausea will pass, hoping his heart will stop racing, hoping anytime soon he’ll start feeling like he can actually do this.  

“Of course, you can do this,” Zayn says confidently.  

“Easy for you to say.”  

“But you can.”  

“This is messed up,” Harry argues. “It’s all… It’s confusing and it’s messed up. It wasn’t so messed up when we were trying to prove ghosts are real.”  

“Come on,” Niall says as he opens the back door of his car, pushing Harry back against his seat when he almost lets himself fall. “Don’t be so dramatic and come say hello to one of your best friends in the flesh, yeah?” he adds, offering him a hand up.  

*

“Can I help you?” the man at the nurse station says when they walk in. “I’m Steve,” he adds, pointing to the name tag stuck to his shirt with a friendly smile. 

“Hey,” Niall says with a small wave and they all walk closer to the station. “We’re here to see Louis Tomlinson?” he continues, letting his forearm rest against the desk.  

Steve’ eyes light up at the name. “Are you family?” he asks enthusiastically when a short blonde woman comes abruptly into the hallway, slightly out of breath.  

“Niall Horan?” she asks when they turn around to look at her. She raises an eyebrow at them when they all stay silent.  

“That’s me,” Niall says, taking a step forwards and offering her his hand.  

She takes it and shakes it firmly. “Perrie Edwards, we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to meet you.”  

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Niall replies with a smile. “This is Zayn and Harry, they’re doing research with me.”  

“Hi,” Perrie says, her eyes widening slightly when they pass over Harry. “It’s nice to meet you both.” She smiles at Steve. “They’re the one I was telling you about, doing research about Louis’ manor.” 

Steve grins. “Oh!” he exclaims. “That’s so cool. He loves talking about that place.” 

Harry feels a small weight lifting from his shoulder. At least Louis isn’t permanently scarred by the loss of the damn place. If he still loves to talk about it, that means he hasn’t changed that much, that no matter how much time has touched him, this part of him remains, and that’s more comforting than words could say.  

“Really?” Zayn asks. “We don’t want to bother him,” he adds and he frowns when Niall elbows him in the side. “Ouch,” he whispers and Harry smiles to himself when Niall widens his eyes warningly.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Steve says, shaking his head too fast. “Louis’ great. He loves talking about Hillsbridge Manor and his family. He can entertain us for hours when he’s having a good day. Honestly, he’s all our favourite resident.” He says the last sentence in a whisper, bringing a hand next to his mouth.  

“Not that we have favourites,” Perrie says sternly.  

“Of course not,” Steve adds before winking at Harry.  

“Alright, fellas,” Perrie says, “you ready to meet him? He’s in the common living room right now.”

  
“Yes,” Niall says excitedly, rubbing his hand together with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat.  

Harry closes his eyes and gulps. He opens them again when he feels a hand squeezing his shoulder and he turns to stare at Zayn. He nods, squeezing again and Harry nods back. “I’m good,” he whispers and they both start walking behind Niall and Perrie, who are chatting excitedly like they’ve been friends forever. 

“Truth be told,” Perrie is admitting when Harry and Zayn finally catch up to them, “Mr. Tomlinson is everyone’s favourite.”  

“Why?” Harry asks impulsively. He needs to know more. He needs to know about Louis as the man he is now, the man he’s become. He wants to know about Louis’ life, his Louis’ future.  

Perrie sneaks a glance at Harry, frowns, then looks back ahead. “He’s always kind. Even on days when his memory isn’t so good, or if he’s confused… He’s just always kind. He tells the best stories. He doesn’t really have family close-by…  He never married, and never got children of his own, so he’s a bit lonely. Most of his siblings are gone. Oh, some of their children visit with the grandkids, but not nearly as frequently as they should, if you ask me. But he’s always kind, you know. He gives sweets to the other residents’ grandchildren. He’s just… he’s sweet. Everyone loves him.” She stops, frowning at Harry again. It only lasts a second. Every time, it only lasts a second. “You’ll see.”  

“Do I have something on my face?” Harry asks Zayn in a whisper once Perrie has stopped speaking, pressing a finger to his cheek.

Zayn shakes his head. “No,” he whispers back. “Why?”  

Harry shakes his head back, choosing to let it go. “Doesn’t matter.”  

“Here we are,” Perrie says as they walk into a vast room.

There are sofas and armchairs, a couple of TVs. It doesn’t look bleak, or anything, but it’s hard imagining Louis living like this after the splendor of his youth.  

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Perrie says softly, approaching an old man and Harry knew.  

He knew they were living whole lifetimes apart, in different worlds, different centuries, but seeing Louis like that, old and small and fragile, it’s like being shocked. It’s like being doused into a freezing lake. It’s like falling. It makes no sense to see him like that, this man so full of life he’s gotten to know. Harry thinks he’s never seen Louis look small. He has such a big personality there’s no way he could ever be small, but sitting there, in that armchair… Harry isn’t sure he can do this.  

“I… I…” Harry stutters and takes a step back.  

“Perrie darling, is that you?” the man who is supposed to be Louis asks in a shaky voice as he turns his head towards the voices.  

“Hi, Mr. Tomlinson. How are you today?” Perrie asks, voice still so soft and caring. Harry hates it. He hates it and he hates her because Louis is not someone who needs to be coddled. He’s strong. He’s one of the strongest men Harry has ever known.  

“I’m great Perrie, who have you got here?” he asks teasingly, looking straight at Harry with knowing eyes, sad eyes, sparkling eyes.

Harry feels his throat close up when their gaze meet. He’d recognise this look anywhere, and suddenly he can’t breathe because it’s Louis. It’s him, it’s really him, and it’s too much. He takes another step back, slams accidentally into Zayn who puts his hands on Harry’s waist to stop him from falling.  

“These are the kids I told you about,” Perrie keeps chatting, unaware of the way Harry’s whole world just flipped again.

It’s real. Every single day he spent with Louis was real.  

“Hi,” Niall says, carefree as ever, saving Harry’s whole life. “My name is Niall Horan, it’s such an honour to meet you, Sir.” He offers Louis his hand, who takes it in a shaky grip.  

“It’s nice to meet you too, son,” Louis replies. “It’s nice to know you kids are interested in that whole dusty place I called home.”  

Harry smiles and gulps. He’s never been less interested in Hillsbridge Manor in his whole life.  

Niall laughs as he takes a seat on the sofa next to Louis’ armchair, already starting to ask him questions about the meals in the manor.  

Perrie looks happy to see Louis with guests and she smiles, eyes soft, before she announces that she’s going to leave them to it. Harry supposes that if she looks at Louis like that, she can’t be all that bad.  

“This is Zayn,” Niall says, pointing behind Harry, and Zayn lets him go to step forward and shake Louis’ hand too. “And you know Harry, of course,” Niall adds in a lower voice when Zayn sits down next to him.  

“Yes,” Louis says softly, looking back at Harry. “Of course.”  

“Hey,” Harry says in a weak exhale. He feels bolted into place, feels like he can’t move a muscle no matter how much he wants to.  

Louis narrows his eyes and Harry can’t help but notice the wrinkles, the crinkles, the way he grew old so beautifully.  

“You gonna come and join us, Harold?” Louis asks in a teasing voice before starting to cough.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, worried, taking the necessary steps to drop to his knees in front of Louis’ chair. He reaches for his shoulder, but Louis pushes his hand away.  

He’s stopped coughing now and he gives Harry a stern look. “Stop fussing,” he croaks tenderly, eyes soft as he looks at every single inch of Harry’s face.  

“Sorry,” Harry whispers. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’ll…” he babbles, trying to step away, but Louis grabs his hand with surprising force, crushing Harry’s fingers.  

They’re touching, for the first time, and the only thing Harry can think is how it’s too late. He holds Louis’ hand in his, his wrinkled hand, and it’s too late.

“You’re alright Harry Styles,” Louis says, squeezing his hand and suddenly Harry wants to cry.  

“Why don’t you sit down with us Harry?” Niall says, patting the space on the sofa closest to Louis’ armchair.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He lets go of Louis’ hand and sits next to his friends on the sofa, head down and hands tightening into fists between his legs.  

“So, what do you want to know about the manor?” Louis asks with a smirk.  

“The… The manor?” Zayn asks with wide eyes. “We don’t wanna know about your crappy manor, we wanna know about the weird phenomenon that allowed Harry and you to be friends.”  

“Zayn,” Niall says warningly, elbowing him again while Louis laughs a little.  

“You’re exactly as Harry described you, you know.”  

“Harry described us?” Niall asks.  

“Just a little… After I told Louis the truth, he wanted to know about my friends and their theories about what’s happening, that’s all.”  

Louis smiles wistfully. “It’s strange to hear you talk about it like that… Like it’s all still happening. It was so long ago.”

“I’m surprised you remember me,” Harry says self-deprecatingly, with a fake laugh.  

There’s an awkward silence and he raises his head again, meeting Louis’ sharp gaze. Everything about him is different physically but this penetrating, piercing, look… It’s like they’re in the drawing room again and Louis is twenty-four years old, staring him down.  

“No one could ever forget you,” Louis declares solemnly. “And I’m definitely not telling you anything,” he adds to Zayn and Niall.

“What?” they both say loudly. Niall blushes when a nurse shushes them from the corner of the room.  

“You have to tell us if you know anything,” Zayn argues, stroking Niall’s back comfortingly.  

Louis sighs, closing his eyes for a second. He looks tired. “I don’t have to tell you miscreants anything. You’ll figure it out in your own time. And if you don’t, then you don’t.”  

“Oh we are figuring it out,” Niall declares. “I lost my ghost, we’re figuring this out.”  

Louis smiles. “Alright then. Do you want to know anything about the manor now?"

“You didn’t get married?” Harry asks, unable to keep the question in.

Louis licks his lower lip slowly. “That’s not a question about the manor.”  

“I guess not,” Harry shrugs. 

“Then, I guess… it didn’t work out.”  

“Would it make me a horrible person if I said that I’m glad?”  

Louis laughs and it turns into a cough again, attracting the attention of a young nurse.  

“Mr. Tomlinson? Are you alright?” she asks, checking his vitals.  

He nods, still coughing.  

“I think maybe you should go back to your room now,” she says firmly, looking at the three of them on the sofa, daring them to protest.  

“I’m okay dear, I’m alright,” Louis protests between two coughs.

“I’m going to call Miss Edwards,” the nurse says slowly, loudly, ignoring Louis’ statement. “She’ll help you back to your room, alright.”  

“Don’t make that face,” Louis says weakly to Harry. “I’m old. It’s fine. And you’re not a bad person. I’ve always known what you thought about the whole thing.”  

“But… you were happy? You…” Harry babbles, trying to get to the point when Perrie arrives.  

“Alright, Lily said you weren’t feeling well and need a bit of a rest?” Perrie asks.

Louis smiles, looking tired. “I guess so,” he says with an eye roll.  

“I can help you,” Harry says when he sees Perrie starting to grab Louis’ arm. “I can help.”  

“I’m fine,” she says firmly. “I think you boys should go now. You can come back another day if you need to.”

“But -”  

“It’s okay, Harry,” Louis says. “I’m happy you came to see me. And I had a very happy life, don’t you worry about me, alright? You have to promise.”  

“But-”  

“Please.”  

Harry sighs, then he nods. “Can you give us a second?” he asks Perrie, and she opens her mouth to protest, but she must see something in his eyes because she nods reluctantly and walks away. “You too,” Harry tells Niall and Zayn.  

“We’ll wait for you in the car?” Niall offers, and he smiles when Harry nods. “It was so lovely meeting you Louis, even if you gave us exactly no new information.”  

Louis chuckles, then coughs. “Well, I live to be helpful,” he says with a wink.  

“Bye,” Zayn says, ruffling Harry’s hair on his way out of the room and smirking when he sees Harry fiddle with it nervously.  

“I’m going to come back,” Harry declares when they’re left alone. He gets up from the armchair and kneels next to Louis. “I’m going to come visit you again.

“Harry,” Louis sighs, reaching for Harry’s hand. He’s shaking still, has a little trouble, but Harry meets him halfway, Harry will always meet him halfway.

He intertwines their fingers together and squeezes, unwilling to listen to whatever protests Louis has.  

“Don’t come back,” Louis says sadly. “I don’t want you to.”  

“But you’re my-” Harry stops himself and he exhales shakily. “You’re my friend and I just… can’t-”

“It really is fine Harry. Go, run and tell younger me how dashing I am in my old age, will you?” 

“Okay,” Harry agrees with a small laugh. “I will. And I’m… I’m so happy that I got to meet you for real, today. You have no idea how happy it’s made me to see you today.”  

Louis reaches for Harry’s cheek, wiping away a tear Harry hadn’t even felt falling. “You don’t look too happy dear,” he whispers knowingly.  

“It’s just… a lot, you know?”  

Louis closes his eyes, his face twisting into a pained expression. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”  

Harry closes his eyes too, pressing their foreheads together, wishing their timeline could have aligned better, wishing he could have had Louis for real, wishing he could stop feeling this way about a man so out of his reach.  

“I missed you,” Louis whispers, holding back a sob, slicing Harry open, leaving him exposed and raw.

“Louis-”  

“It’s alright,” Louis says, pushing Harry away. “You have to go now, but thank you.”  

“What are you thanking me for?” Harry asks in a small voice.  

“Being my best friend,” Louis replies before pressing his lips on Harry’s forehead in a featherlike touch.

“Louis,” Harry says, shakily, while Louis waves Perrie over.  

“All ready?” she asks brightly, giving Harry a stern look.

He gets up and gets out of her way. “No,” he admits, with a frown.  

“I wasn’t talking you,” Perrie says without looking at him.  

She helps Louis up and Harry can’t do anything, except watch her take him away and he’s not ready. He’s not ready for the real Louis, the one who is really here, to go. He’s not ready.  

“But-”  

“Goodbye, Harry,” Louis says, brushing his arm on his way out.  

“Goodbye.”

*

Harry isn’t sure how much time has passed when Niall finally comes to find him. He’s sitting against the brick wall of the nursing home, on the side of the building away from the parking, arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead pressed against his knees. 

“Hey,” Niall says, sliding down the wall to sit next to him. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispers in a sob. “I don’t know.”

Niall doesn’t say anything. He just wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and he kisses his head. He kisses his head and lets him cry for Louis, for himself, for a life he wants, but knows he can’t have.

*

Niall and Zayn exchange a look from the front seats when they finally arrive back at Harry’s house. They have one of their silent conversation while Harry stays pouting against the window, exhausted from his day, from his life, from his embarrassing inexplicable crying fest.

“Do you want us to come up with you?” Niall offers in a gentle voice, treating Harry like porcelain. It would be humiliating if it wasn’t so fucking kind. “We could watch a film, eat gross stuff, sob a bit. We could do Titanic? The Notebook?”

Harry snorts. “I think I’ve cried enough for one day, but thanks." 

He unbuckles his seatbelt, then opens his door. Then he steps out of the car and closes the door a little too harshly, the sound loud and brusk in the silent evening of Hillsbridge’s quietest street. Harry can see the way Zayn winces at the sound.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, walking to Niall’s rolled down window. “Thank you, for today. Both of you. I wasn’t at my best.”  

“It’s okay, H. It was a tough day. Take care of yourself tonight, yeah?” Niall says, patting Harry’s arm.

“I will,” Harry agrees before walking back to his house.

When he finally gets to his room, he reaches for his phone and calls Gemma, curling up in his computer chair as her happy chatter calms him down.

* 

“Have you seen him?” Louis asks him a few days later while they’re hanging out in the woods.

“Seen who?”

“Old me?” Louis replies like it’s obvious. “Ancient, decrepit, unkillable, second oldest man in Britain, me?”

Harry gulps. “You’re not decrepit,” he says, fierce and quick in his defense.

“So, you _have_ seen him,” Louis says pensively, tapping his index against a tree.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry mumbles and he keeps walking, going forwards, ignoring Louis' face and Louis'... everything.

Except, Louis Tomlinson is a man hard to ignore and he laughs, loudly, like whatever Harry said, whatever's got him so cagey, is actually funny.

"That bad, uh?" he asks and Harry suspects he's running after him, but it's hard to tell when he's not fully corporeal in this decade and the noises he makes are minimal.

"You don't look bad," Harry sighs, playing with the rings on his fingers, eyes focused on the trees ahead.

"I don't?" Louis singsongs, clearly fishing for information.

"Nope. You look... You look like you, and you actually asked me to tell you you still look great."

"I did? Well, that sounds like me. Did you meet my grandchildren?"

"What?"

"Oh, right. That's a stupid question, you've already met them if you got permission to come into the manor. What am I even saying?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees, heart clenching painfully.

Louis catches up to him and they walk side by side for a bit. It’s still early spring, but they’ve been lucky enough to be blessed with a beautiful day, hot enough that Harry is comfortable wearing only his t-shirt outside. Louis has given up his three-piece suit for the day, a rare occurrence, and he’s happily trekking along the woods with no purpose in a simple white shirt and some trousers. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think they belonged in the same time.  

“How are things in the future then?” Louis asks after a few minutes of tensed silence.

“For you?”

Louis smirks. “I mean, yeah. If you want to share, I definitely want to know, but you seemed rather adamant that you do not want to talk about it… I figured a little change of topic might be apropos.”

“But I don’t think I should say anything about the future either…”  

“Oh come on, don’t be so boring Harry. Just a little bit of information, yeah?”  

“You’ll get there soon enough,” Harry says warningly.  

“Not even sports statistics?” Louis asks.  

“What?”  

“Yeah, for gambling,” Louis says with a nonchalant shrug.  

“Right, because the one thing you need is more money,” Harry replies with an eye roll before he remembers the fact that actually, yes, the one thing Louis needs is more money. “Sorry,” he adds sheepishly, mentally scolding himself.  

“It’s fine,” Louis waves him off like it doesn’t matter, but there’s a crease in his forehead, the one that only appears when he’s worried. “Don’t need gambling when I’ve got an heiress, right?”

Harry laughs awkwardly, Louis’ voice as he told him that his engagement hadn’t worked out ringing in his head like a bell.  

“Besides, I know you can’t tell me anything,” Louis continues dismissively. “Wouldn’t be right.”  

“No, it really wouldn’t.”  

“Not even a hint though?”  

“Louis!” Harry scolds, wrinkling his nose.  

“Alright, alright! You can’t blame me for trying… I mean… a whole century passed for you.”  

“You do know I wasn’t even alive for most of it, right?”  

“Doesn’t matter, you know it. You know the history!”  

Harry giggles. “I think you're overestimating how well I did in school, mate. I mean, I know the basics of course, but I’m no expert. I studied photography, not history. Certainly not Britain’s history.”

“You actually studied photography, though? I was wondering if that was true or not.”  

“I told you this whole thing started because I wanted to photograph your house,” Harry says, disbelievingly.  

“Well, yes, but that could have been a lie, or a hobby. Or… anything really.”

“It’s not,” Harry declares firmly. “It’s a career, or at least it’s trying to be one.”

“Trying?"

“I finished university last year, course in Photography,” Harry explains with a sigh. Now that time has passed, it’s a bit easier to accept that these things take time and a magical fairy tale ending doesn’t appear with a diploma.

“I didn’t know you could study Photography at university,” Louis says with a puzzled frown.

“Well, I don’t know if you can in 1925, but here, you can pretty much study anything.”

“But why is it trying to be a career? Can’t you find a job?”

Harry shrugs. “Not really. I mean, I had one, in some artistic magazine. It was really great, but it fell through. I moved back with my parents, tried to distract myself, met a ghost, and here I am,” Harry explains, both arms in the air in a vaguely triumphant and demonstrative way.

“It’ll work out,” Louis says confidently.

“You think so?”

“Of course. Things always do.”

“That’s highly optimistic of you.”

“I try to be.”

“What about things with your heiress?” Harry can’t stop himself from asking, the words uncomfortable in his mouth.

“They’re going well,” Louis replies, face closing off immediately. “She’s nice.”

“Well, I guess if she’s nice, the arranged marriage isn’t bad.”

“Harry-”

“Sorry, I know you don’t like me talking shit about it.”

“It’s not that. I know what you think, it’s fine. We’re friends. I don’t have a lot of those, but I expect the truth from the very few I do have. It’s just you disapproving isn’t going to change anything. Her family is rich and she is without scandal and so far, she seems kind and gets on with most of my sisters. I don’t know what more I could ask for.”

It makes Harry want to throw up a little. There’s so much more that Louis could ask for; love, a partner, someone who complete him and brings out the best in him, someone to share his burden and worries, someone to cherish more than his title, someone who makes his heart beat so fast and his hands tremble… It’s not Harry’s business though. It’s not his place to say anything and he knows, at least, that at some point in the near future, Louis will realise sacrificing his happiness and his integrity for the good of his family is not worth it and he won’t get married.

Not for now though.

“Are you going to say anything?” Louis asks after they’ve both stayed silent too long.  

Harry looks at him from the corner of his eyes; the way his hair fall over his forehead, wet with sweat; the way he seems to be glowing underneath the sun; the way he looks nervous, scared of Harry’s judgment.  

“There’s not much to say.”

*

A few weeks later, Niall is reading a book about astrophysics, sitting crossed leg on one of the tables of the library.

“This is relevant to the Louis thing, how?” Harry asks when he walks in.

Niall doesn’t look up from his book. He turns the page slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not,” he mumbles half-heartedly. “I’m just curious about astrophysics.”

“Of course,” Harry deadpans, dropping his bag next to Zayn’s desk. “You good?” he asks him.

“I’m great! I have a lot of theories brewing,” Zayn replies enthusiastically. “There’s this scientist in Norway who thinks that all of history and time isn’t linear, but rather just all messed up all over and that sometimes means different time periods can just press awkwardly against each other which results in abnormal echoes.”

“Abnormal echoes?”

Zayn nods. “I ordered his book online,” he declares. Then he looks sheepish. “I ordered a lot of books online. We’re kinda taking a break from the whole thing while we’re waiting for them to arrive next week.”

“Hence the astrophysics…”

“Right."

Harry strokes his nose with his index, then shrugs. “All right.” He starts walking towards Niall’s table for a few steps, before turning back towards Zayn. “All messed up all over? Is that the scientific term?”

“Oi!” Zayn protests. “You weren’t this much of a dick when it was Niall’s weird measuring instruments!”

Harry laughs, as he starts climbing the table to lay down next to where Niall is sitting.

“Niall didn’t imply I was insane for seeing ghosts,” he declares once he’s on his back on the table.

“Well, technically I was right because Louis is not a ghost,” Zayn replies, ignoring Harry’s call out.

“Technically, I was also right because I did see Louis for real and I wasn’t making it up, or too exhausted, or whatever.”

“Technically-”

Niall closes his book in a loud thud and gives them both a stern look, efficiently shutting his boyfriend up.

“Technically, none of us are right, or even know what the fuck is going on because this shit is so far beyond our comprehension.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Harry admits with a sigh.

“One of my books is gonna bring us answers,” Zayn says confidently. “I’m sure of it.” 

“Not sure Mr. Norway and his messed up history is going to help babe, but yeah, maybe one of the other books is gonna be good.”

Harry giggles.

“What?” Niall asks, pinching Harry’s shoulder.

“Nothing. It’s just… I don’t know, maybe these things just don’t have explanations. Maybe it’s just a miracle and a curse.”

“A curse?” Zayn asks.

Harry stays silent. 

“Hey,” Niall begins carefully, drumming his fingers against Harry’s side. “I was wondering… Have you ever tried to touch him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Louis? Have you ever tried to touch him? Because, we’ve been looking at a lot of different theories, right? But we don’t know if he actually exists in our time, or if you exists in his, or if it’s like… like a window where you both can just… see through.”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t touch him,” Harry says bitterly and isn’t that part of his problem. He can’t touch Louis. Not for real, not like he wants to, not like he longs to. He can never touch Louis.

“Well, have you tried?” Niall asks easily.

“I don’t need to try,” Harry replies stubbornly. Why can’t Niall just let this one thing go?

“Oh come on, that’s a cop-out.”

“Will you let it go?!” Harry snaps, sitting on the table and giving Niall a nasty look.

“Fine, I’m dropping it. I still think it would help us if you could try… Might give us insights into what type of apparitions you guys are for each other.”  

“I don’t want to,” Harry says, firm, angry. “And you and I both know the answer to that. We don’t need to test it at all.”

*

Except, as he wakes up the next day and makes his way to the manor, Harry can’t stop thinking about it.

They’ve never tried, is the thing. Harry has never stepped too close, scared to ruin the illusion of reality they both built for themselves, scared to want it more with the certainty that he can’t have it.

“You look distracted?” Louis says a few hours later, while they’re both eating lunch in the shade of a tree. Louis’ is something fancy he can’t quite pronounce, set up prettily in a delicate plate, while Harry’s is a simple sandwich he brought from home in one of his mum’s Tupperware.

Harry shrugs as he chews, then swallows. “Sorry,” he replies, before finishing his lunch and putting his container away. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help with?” Louis asks as he puts his own plate away too, turning his body towards Harry, giving him his undivided attention.

Harry shrugs again, conflicted. “Maybe?” he says, hesitantly, with a grimace.

“Well, go on then. Out with it, Styles,” Louis says insistently, gesturing prettily.

“It’s just Niall… My friend Niall? The one who believes in ghost?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“He… asked me something the other day,” Harry starts, biting his lower lip. “He asked me to do something actually.”

“Something uncomfortable?”

  
“No,” Harry whispers. “Not really. Just…” he trails off, looking at Louis’ backyard, at the extent of his land with the impressed look he had when he first saw it that day in September. Now that the sun has almost returned to England, and that spring is starting to be comfortable, they’ve been spending more and more time outside. Harry doesn’t know what Louis tells his siblings and the servants, but they haven’t been bothered so far. It’s so peaceful up here, the balance of their relationship untouched and delicate. If he tries to touch Louis, everything might change.  

“What is it, Harry?” Louis asks reassuringly, soft, and Harry almost wishes he didn’t have to meet the kindest man on earth only to have him be utterly unattainable.

“He just wonders how this thing works, you know? Him and Zayn, they’re reading all the time and doing research, trying to understand how it is that we can communicate. Do we just see each other? Is there like… a window between our years? Or do we just… Are we walking through some sort of time no man’s land? Somewhere neutral where both of our years coexist peacefully somehow? Do I visit you, without knowing? Or do you visit me? There are so many unanswered questions.”

“I can’t be visiting you,” Louis replies, shaking his head. “I can still see the manor as it is in my time.”

“And I can see it as it in my time,” Harry argues. “It doesn’t exactly make sense, but we’re trying to unravel it.”

“What does Niall want you to do?”

“He wants me to try to touch you,” Harry says in one breath, heart skipping a beat. “If you’ll let me.”  

“Touch me how?” Louis asks and Harry can tell there’s a nervousness, an edge, in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“However you like,” Harry says in a soft exhale. “We don’t have to do it,” he adds quickly, fiddling with his hair. “He just figures, knowing if we can or not, could be helpful and narrow down his theories. It’s stupid though.” 

“No!” Louis protests. “It’s alright. We can try. You’re not a ghost and neither am I, it’s not as scary as it might have once been,” he adds with a chuckle and he looks so beautiful and open, Harry thinks it might be even more terrifying, now.

“Okay,” he says absently. “Okay, okay.” He nods to himself, then starts getting up.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks.

“I don’t know, really.” Harry shrugs and turns to face the tree, giving Louis what he hopes isn’t too much of a desperate look.

“Alright,” Louis says firmly, getting up in turn and taking a few steps towards Harry. He stops when they are only a breath away, so close yet so far.

“Alright,” Harry repeats in a whisper, eyes lowering to look at Louis’ lips for less than a second. He can’t. Not that. Harry doesn’t think he could ever recover if he tried and… 

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to work,” Louis says, fidgeting with his fringe for a second before licking his lips.

Harry forces his eyes away painfully, then he inhales deeply before reaching down to arrange Louis’ hair. It shouldn’t surprise him when his fingers slip through Louis like he isn’t there at all, yet he still feels the disappointment like a punch, violent and unexpected.

He closes his eyes, breathing deeply, trying not to let his distress show. When he opens his eyes again, Louis has moved a few steps away, back to him and facing the tree.

“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Louis says without emotions, but Harry can see the way his fingers tremble against his thigh.

“Louis -" 

“We should get back to the house,” Louis says dismissively, reaching down to grab his plate, ignoring Harry’s pleading tone.

*

“Tell me about your family,” Louis demands in the middle of April. He’s smoking against a tree, looking too good to be real, always reminding Harry that he’s not, not where it counts. They haven’t talked about their failed attempt at touching, too busy trying to pretend it didn’t happen to talk about their feelings about.  

“I’ve already told you about my family,” Harry replies from where he’s sitting crossed-legged on the grass, the clicking sounds of his knitting needles comforting.

“That was back when you were lying because you didn’t want me to figure out you’re from the year 2017,” Louis declares before exhaling smoke.

“You like saying that, don’t you?” Harry asks, squinting against the sun. 

“Saying what?”

“That I’m from 2017,” Harry replies. He’s noticed it in the past few weeks, the way Louis gets excited whenever the future is mentioned even though he’s behaving well and isn’t asking about it.

“Well, it is rather marvelous, don’t you think?” Louis teases.

“Yeah, pretty marvelous,” he agrees with a nod. “And my family is boring. I didn’t lie much about it. My sister really is a journalist, I truly am close to my mum and her husband. I guess the only major thing I implied was that my father is dead…” Harry says pensively. 

“He’s not?”  

“Nah, he lives near Manchester. They got divorced when I was little and I know it’s not very well perceived in 1925 so…”

“And it is in 2017?” 

“I mean…” Harry hesitates. “It’s not celebrated, but it’s no reason for anyone to be shunned, you know. At least not here in England.”  

“Was it… difficult for you?” Louis asks, dropping his cigarette on the grass before stepping on it.  

“What do you mean?”

“To have…” Louis gesticulates vaguely, then sits down next to Harry. “A broken home, I guess.”

Harry snorts, losing a stitch. “Ah, damn,” he mumbles, continuing the project without it because no matter how many times Mrs. Wilcox teaches him how to save them, he can’t seem to remember.

“Have you killed it then?” Louis hums, looking over Harry’s scarf.

“I think it’s going to be okay,” Harry says, eyeing the project with a pout. “I don’t think it’ll show.”

“Good, good,” Louis mumbles. “Broken home, then?”

Harry laughs. “No. Really not. I mean, it wasn’t pleasant, for sure, but I was very little. And my mum is really happy with Robin now. I get on well with him, so does Gemma. We’re just a boring middle-class family, I’m afraid. Nothing like your exciting bunch!”

“My… bunch,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose, “is not exciting.”

“Tell that to the gambling addict who almost brought you to financial ruin,” Harry teases. “Or your plant grandfather!”

“My plant…” Louis huffs. “If I knew more about your genealogy….” he sighs, looking up to the sky like he’s begin high powers for help.

“But you don’t!” Harry singsongs.

“Holmes Chapel, you said?” Louis says, narrowing his eyes.   

“Yes, but I never said that was where my grandparents were from. My parents moved there when my mother got pregnant actually. So, I suppose you’ll never know the family secrets,” Harry replies with a shrug.

“Unless you tell me,” Louis says, fluttering his eyelids in Harry’s direction. It almost works. 

“Honestly? I don’t know much beyond my grandparents’ stories, sorry.”

“How can you not know?”

“Not everyone is made to memorise their entire family tree in infancy Louis.”

“We don’t do that,” Louis protests with a tiny frown. “Besides, it’s during childhood, not infancy, and it’s important.”

“No doubt.”

“It is! You should work on this,” Louis declares.

“Work on what?” Harry snorts.

“Your genealogy! You should learn it. More specifically, you should learn embarrassing things about members of your family, then you should tell those things to me, so I can have bribing material.” 

“That’s not a very good incentive, just sayin’. Besides, I’ve spent so much time digging up _your_ genealogy and your family history… I think I’m done with family trees for the rest of my life!”

Louis hums, then gives Harry a small side glance, before looking back straight ahead.

“What is it?” Harry asks after a couple of seconds of silence.

“Nothing.”

“It’s something.”

Louis sighs. “Fine. Hypothetically speaking, if my sister Charlotte had a potential suitor and I told you his name, would you be able to tell me if he’s the man she marries? And how well that marriage works out?”

Harry laughs. “You know I can’t do that! Besides, I don’t remember Charlotte’s husband, we never focused on him.”

“But she _does_ get married?” Louis asks, pointing his index at Harry.

“Does that surprise you?”

“Well no, but still. I’d like to know if he’s worth it.”

 “I think she can decide if he’s worth it or not,” Harry replies a hint teasing. “I know women’s rights aren’t exactly top notch in 1925,” he adds sarcastically, “but surely your parents won’t have two forced marriage in the same year, that seems unbecoming.”

Louis rolls his eyes in response, half irritated and half fond. “They’re not forcing her to get married,” he admits.

“Then stop worrying.”

*

“I never knew him to be such a geek,” Harry says a few weeks later, watching Zayn dividing the books he bought online into different categories, writing them all on a blackboard Harry suspects he stole from the primary school with Niall’s help. If the label that says _Property of Hillsbridge Elementary School_ at the bottom is to be trusted.

“I knew!” Niall whispers back, eyes fond as he watches Zayn carefully pick up every book and write down the title in the appropriate column. “I knew and I’m still surprised by all of this.”

“He’s really serious,” Harry chuckles, reading the board. Each column is carefully labeled at the top, the categories:   _Portals_ , _Alternate Universes_ , _Dimensions Theories_ , _Temporal Theories_ & _Misc._ all in their proper place. It makes Harry feel a bit dizzy, looking at all the options, at the various messed up things his meeting Louis could be.

Niall shrugs. “He really wants to know what’s happening there.”

“Don’t we all!” Harry replies, eyes widening. “Louis demands updates all the time.”  

“He does?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles fondly. “He thinks he’s being subtle, because I don’t want to give him too much information about his future, but he really wants to know we’re progressing. I mean, it makes sense. Whatever it is, it most likely has something to do with his house, and we both know how he is about that.”

“Yeah, we do,” Niall says with a nod. “Wait, does that mean you haven’t told him about the Estate?” he asks. “About his marriage?"

“No,” Harry replies defensively. “You’re the one who told me I couldn’t say anything. That I couldn’t help him, or save him, or whatever.”

“Yeah, but that was when I thought he was dead. I mean… Who knows how this thing works? Maybe you can have an influence now…”

Harry sighs. “I can have an influence? Really? After all the shit you gave me.”

“I’m not saying you should tell him his whole life,” Niall argues. “I was just curious to know if you’d tried to warn him that they’re gonna lose the Estate and that his plan isn’t going to work.”

“It’s his parents’ plan. And I don’t want to break his heart. He has hope right now, that’s precious.”

“1928 is coming really quickly, H. He won’t have hope for very long.”

  
“Well, he has it for now. Besides, if he didn’t get married, that means he chose for himself, that he chose his own happiness. That’s a good thing, I’m not going to meddle.”

*

“I think I found something,” Zayn declares one evening at the end of May. “I just finished a book and it really seems like I truly found something.” 

“Yeah, but you say that every time you finish a new book,” Niall teases, reaching across his car to squeeze Zayn’s thigh. “Last week, you said you knew for sure there was a portal to different timelines and that Louis keeps accidentally walking through it and into our time.”

“It could have been true!” Zayn argues. “With the information that we had last week, it could have been true!”

“I can’t touch him!” Harry says with a laugh. “If he was walking through our year, I’d be able to touch him!”

“Fine! So, it was a flawed theory,” Zayn says with an eye roll. “But I really do think that I found an explanation this time.”

“Alright, then,” Harry replies, giving his friend the benefit of the doubt. He hasn’t been successful in explaining the phenomenon so far, each of the theories more far-fetched than the last, but they’ll figure it out someday. Harry has to believe it won’t remain unresolved for him for the rest of his life. “Let’s hear it.”

“I just finished this book about time,” Zayn begins to explain, “and this guy theorises that there is a phenomenon called ‘temporal displacement’ or ‘time wounds’ and that it causes temporal abnormalities like what you’ve been experiencing with Louis.”

“Time wounds?”  

“Sounds a bit Doctor Who,” Niall laughs. “What, there’s somewhere on the Estate where time is bleeding?” he adds in an ominous voice.  

“It’s not a literal wound, it’s just a figure of speech. But yeah, basically he thinks that the walls between different time are really thin and sometimes in sacred spaces or important places, it can rip and cause this… ripple of coexistence. He says that sometimes, people and things can interact, or slip through.”

“So, it’s half scientific bullshit and half religious bullshit?” Harry asks slowly. 

Zayn huffs. “I know it sounds weird and kinda crazy,” he admits. “I thought so too when I started the book, but the more I read, the more I recognised the symptoms.”

“He does not call them symptoms,” Harry snorts disbelievingly.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what he calls them! It’s the only book that described perfectly what’s happening here. Like the fact that you can’t touch, but that sometimes Louis can interact with our time as well as his. Like the fact that he sees his own time, while you see ours, but you can still see each other? Like the fact that you’re coexisting at all, even if it flickers sometimes and one of you disappear for the other… He says time wounds can manifest themselves as echoes of another time. Sounds familiar?” 

“Wait, the book talks about all that stuff?” Harry says with a gulp.

“Yeah,” Zayn replies, turning to look at Harry in the backseat. “I told you, I really think I found it. Or at least this guy is close. I wrote him an email with theoretical questions, I figured maybe something he says could help us find the source. You know, the place where time is bruised as he’d say.”

“Why do you want to find it?” Niall asks. “I mean, I’m curious too, but we’d have no way to prove it even if we did find this source?” 

“I don’t want to prove anything,” Zayn replies. “But we said we were going to see this through, and that’s what I plan on doing.


	4. Summer

The heiress arrives on the most ordinary of days. It’s the beginning of June, not a cloud in the sky, like England said it was _okay_ for her to be here. Like England said _sure that works!_  

“Ugh,” Harry groans.

He wishes it could rain, or snow. He wishes there would be thunder. Something, anything, that resembles the tumultuous storm of feelings battling in his chest. But no, the sun just shines and the birds keep singing like Louis isn’t faking interest in some stupid arranged marriage right this second, one hundred years ago.

Harry inhales deeply, letting his head hit the tree trunk he’s resting against. He’s hiding in the forest like they agreed he would. Waiting for Louis to be able to slip away and join him, like they agreed he would.

Harry reaches for his phone, looking at the time with a tiny sigh. He should be here by now. Louis should be back from his stupid tea party with some stupid Americans. He hits the tree again, closing his eyes at the burst of pain.

“Impatient?” Louis says, snapping him out of it.  

“Louis!” Harry says, getting up too quickly and almost falling. “How did go? Are you alright? What did she say?”

Louis grimaces. “Not much,” he replies. “The manor is very pretty,” he adds in a soft airy voice before rolling his eyes. “Did you know?”  

Harry smirks. “Well, you can’t blame her for thinking that. It is pretty. I’d be excited to get to live there too.”  

The only thing sustaining Harry right now is the fact that he knows with absolute certainty that she’s never going to live there.

“Yeah. It’s true.”  

“So, was it alright?” Harry asks again, hoping he’s not too annoying, but truly needing to know.

“Yeah, she’s… nice. She brought presents for my little sisters. Some dolls? It was quite kind of her, she didn’t have to do that.”  

“That’s good,” Harry replies, clearing his throat. “That’s really good. You deserve someone kind.”  

Louis smiles. “I mean, we’ll see. She’s here all summer so I should have time to get to know her properly. Tomorrow we’re going riding. Mama wants me to take her on a tour of the Estate.”  

Harry gulps. Louis is going to be getting busy. He’s going to be busy all summer becoming friends with his future wife and Harry isn’t sure if he can live with that.  

“Should I…” he hesitates to continue when he sees Louis frowning a little at the tone of his voice. Harry gulps, passing a hand through his hair.  

“What is is?” Louis asks.  

“Should I stop coming?”  

“What?” Louis gasps, taking a step away from Harry.  

“I mean, now that she’s here. You’re going to be busy and I… I don’t know, I don’t wanna bother you.”  

“You could never bother me,” Louis says, disbelieving. He shakes his head. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane in this mess.”  

“Oh.”  

“I’ll always make time for you. You… you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always make time for you.”

* 

“Do you like poetry?” Louis asks one evening.

“Of course,” Harry replies, wiggling his toes in the grass. “Don’t you?”  

“I do. It makes me feel sad and complete.”  

They’re both lying down in a meadow, listening to the quiet of the night, happy to escape the reality of the world for just a few more minutes. Soon, Louis will have to walk back to the manor to have dinner with his guests. Soon, Harry will have to walk back home with a heavy heart. For now, they’re at peace.  

“Complete?” Harry asks.  

Louis hums. “It’s always lovely, don’t you think? When strangers have prettier words for all the spectrum of what we’re feeling.”  

“Yeah,” he replies shakily. “It is. Who is your favourite?”  

“Poet?”  

Harry turns his head to look at Louis, grass tickling his cheek. He nods.  

Louis smiles, keeping his head straight ahead, but he still sneaks a small side glance in Harry’s direction.  

“I don’t think I have one,” he admits. “You?”  

“I don’t know… I’ve been reading Leonard Cohen recently, I got one of his books for Christmas.”  

“I assume he hasn’t been born yet because that name is very unfamiliar.”  

Harry laughs. “You assume correctly. I’ve liked getting to know him. There’s a lot of sadness in his work, but a lot of hope too.”  

“Really?”  

Harry nods. “There’s a crack in everything,” he recites easily, the song now intimately familiar to him, “that’s how the light gets in.”  

“That’s pretty,” Louis replies softly.  

“It’s this,” Harry chuckles awkwardly. “It’s us.”  

“What do you mean?”  

“Zayn has a theory, about what’s happening with your house, with the Estate.”  

Louis laughs. “Doesn’t he always have a theory?” he asks, turning completely on his side to face Harry, hand resting on his palm.

“Yeah, but that one makes a lot of sense. It’s about bruises in time, places where the walls between time rip and it spills a little, small echoes like us pouring through.”  

“That’s how the light gets in,” Louis repeats, face serious. 

“Yeah," Harry sighs. Something like that.   

* 

A week later, Harry is staring at the Scrabble board with intensity, pondering all of his options, when Zayn sighs for the fifth time in five minutes.  

“Something you wanna share with the class babe?” Niall asks, moving his letters around even though it’s not his turn.  

“Nothing,” Zayn mumbles, still staring at the board. 

All the other discarded theories have been erased, the top of it only reading _Temporal Displacement / Time Wound (Bruise)!_ Harry can’t make out much of it beyond that, Zayn’s handwriting tiny and illegible. He has a couple of pictures of different spots on the Estate stuck to it, big question marks drawn next to each one, as well as what appears to be a list of the symptoms that are displayed at Hillsbridge Manor. Or at least, that’s what Harry thinks. The section is either called Symptoms or Syndromes, but the second one makes little sense in this context.  

“Are you sure?” Niall continues, tongue poking out of his mouth and eyes still glued to his pieces.  

“Yes!” 

“It’s just you’ve been sighing a lot.”  

“I’m trying to solve an incredible mystery, did you know that?”  

“I do know that honey, I’m very proud,” Niall says, looking up from his pieces to wink at Harry. 

“Well, the least you two could do is help me, no?”

Niall turns in his chair, resting his forearms rest on the back. “Do you want help?” he asks innocently.

“I-”  

“Because two hours ago, when Harry and I were helping you said, and I quote, that we were ‘the least helpful beings on the planet and clearly any attempt for you to understand this complex phenomenon I’m trying to navigate is futile because you didn’t bother to read the book.’ Except, the other night, when I tried to read the book, you snatched it out of my hands with a growl and gave me some romantic poets collection instead. And I hate the Romantics. I hate poetry in general. The only poetry I like is yours, mostly because it’s about me.”

“Niall!” Zayn hisses, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment.  

Harry bites on his lower lip, trying to stop himself from laughing. He’ll have to ask Niall to see one of those poems sometime. 

“So, I’m going to ask again… Do you want us to help you?”  

“I don’t want you at all,” Zayn mumbles, turning his back on them and staring at his board again.  

“I love you too, darling,” Niall replies, facing Harry again. He frowns. “Hey, how did you manage to get a 30 points word?”   

* 

“Oh no!” Louis laughs. “No, no. My worst habit is the fact that I drink tea before bed. I just can’t go to bed without my cuppa, it’s terrible. No matter how late it is as well. I’m calling Liam up at all hours to get my last cup, the poor lad.”  

Harry giggles. “Poor Liam! Don’t you know how to make your own tea?” he says, giving Louis an amused, yet perplexed gaze.  

“No,” Louis admits, bursting into laughter again. “I’m a bit useless.”  

Harry shakes his head. “Terrible,” he says. “That’s your worst habit, by the way, the fact that you can’t do anything on your own.”

“Sometimes I dress myself without Liam’s help,” Louis protests.  

“Oh, would you like a medal?” Harry teases. “Impossible, honestly!”  

“Alright, alright. What about you?” Louis asks, cheeks still red. “I can’t be the only one humiliating myself right now.”  

“I have no bad habits,” Harry denies with a smirk. “I’m perfect, what can I say?”  

“Yeah,” Louis snorts. “Right.”  

“Actually, I do that tea at night thing too. Then I’m all worked up and I can’t sleep at all. My ex-boyfriend, he used to hate it when I did that,” Harry lets it slip without meaning to, the words out of his mouth before he can stop himself. His heartbeat picks up with nerves, or fear, or anticipation as Louis’ face closes when he realises what Harry just said.  

He’s mentally speculated about Louis’ sexuality, but Harry knows that things are different where Louis is from, that he’s probably not going to accept what Harry said without judgment or reservation. No matter if he’s in the same boat himself.  

“Your… ex-boyfriend?” Louis asks, completely neutral. All traces of happiness gone from his face and it’s like the sun has left Harry’s life, like the temperature in the room just dropped as Louis’ smile vanished.

“Yes. I dated a man,” Harry declares sharply, trying not to show how nervous he feels. He hides his shaky hands in his pocket, waiting for Louis to finally say something substantial, to react in any way.  

But Louis doesn’t react at all. His gaze remains empty as he stares at Harry for a second before turning his back to him.

“Shit,” Harry swears under his breath, looking at Louis’ tense back for a second before deciding he’s not going to let this slide. “You know what,” he says, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone, “I know things are different where you’re from, but I’m not going to apologize for offending your sensibilities. Where I come from, men can marry men, women can marry women, and it’s fucking great. ” 

Harry’s about to continue his passionate speech when Louis starts laughing. It’s bitter, ugly, nothing like the gorgeous, musical, sound Harry has gotten used to.

“I’m not offended,” he admits, sounding defeated. “I just think,” he adds, turning around and giving Harry a sad, angry look, “it’s a particularly cruel twist of fate to have you here, speaking of this future, this future that’s only an arm’s length away,” Louis says, reaching for Harry, his fingers almost close enough to touch him, “and yet so…. unattainable. A future where you get to hold hands with the man you love while I have to get ready for dinner with the woman they want me to marry and her family.”

“Louis,” Harry whispers, feeling his heart break.

“I should go,” he replies, gulping, looking hurt but still dignified. He points to his outfit, what appears to be yet another a beautifully tailored suit, “I can’t possibly show myself looking like this.”

“Does anybody know?” Harry asks, unable to stop himself. Louis can’t leave. Not now, not after what he said.

He laughs again; this ugly, distorted thing that Harry knows will haunt him forever. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harold. We don’t speak of those things. It’s undignified.”

There’s beat of silence before Louis sighs.  

“Liam,” he admits reluctantly. “I tried to kiss him once… I was really drunk,” he adds and he sounds ashamed, angry with himself for doing something so foolish. It makes Harry want to reach out, to comfort, but he’s powerless. “He was actually very kind about it. Took care of me, put me back to bed.”

“I’m glad,” Harry whispers because if there’s one thing Louis deserves above all it’s kindness.

“He could have complained about me or have me thrown in jail. But he never said a thing.”

“He’s a good friend.”

Louis chuckles softly. “Considering our positions and professional relationship, no he’s not. He can’t be.”

Harry’s heart twists painfully in his chest, feeling like the loneliness dripping from Louis’ voice is drowning him and he can’t shake it away.

“But if circumstances were different then yes, I think he would be a good friend indeed.” 

“Louis-”  

“You should go back home Harry, I have to get ready,” he says solemnly, turning around.  

He stops at the door, giving Harry a last look. “Don’t look so tragic, please,” Louis begs and Harry blinks, trying to wish the tears away but he can’t.  

“I’m trying,” Harry whispers.

“I’m thankful for you, you know,” Louis says, fiddling with his tie and avoiding Harry’s gaze. 

“I can’t imagine why right now.” 

“Because the future is really bright,” Louis declares, looking up, eyes filled with hope. “And that’s… more comforting than you could possibly know.”  

And on that note, he leaves Harry alone in the dusty room.  

He inhales deeply once he’s gone, fighting against the tears but they keep coming.  

“Fuck,” Harry whispers shakily. 

*

They pretend like it didn’t happen. Well, Louis pretends like it didn’t happen and Harry follows his lead because the last thing he ever wants is to make him uncomfortable. For a few weeks, they meet up as usual. They talk about everything and nothing, they play silly games and hide in the meadow they are starting to think as theirs. They never mention the Americans. They never mention the impending wedding. They never mention that every day that passes is bringing Louis closer to a life he doesn’t want.  

Harry keeps expecting for Louis to say he’s changed his mind. He keeps expecting him to admit that saying yes to this crazy plan was a mistake and that he’s realised he could never go through with it. He keeps expecting things to naturally fall through… But they don’t.  

“You know, she doesn’t even like tea,” Louis reveals in the mid-July heat.

It’s the first time he’s talked about her since he told Harry he doesn’t like women and his heart lurches painfully in his chest at the words.  

“She’s American,” Harry says weakly, hoping he’ll be strong enough not to voice his disapproval again. Voicing his disapproval is the only thing he's been doing, time and time again, and still, Louis talks of marrying her. Whatever is going to happen to change things, it's probably not Harry's doing. 

“She’s going to have to fix that if she wants to live in England. I mean, what respectable English family has a member who doesn’t like tea? It’s completely inappropriate. But, apart from that, it’s going well.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, remains silent because there’s too much he wants to say.  

“Oh come on, I know you’ve been wondering. You haven’t asked any questions, but I know you’ve been wondering.” Louis gives him a calculating look like he's daring Harry to protest. 

“I’m curious about your life,” Harry replies, devoid of emotions.

“Well, it’s going well," Louis replies like saying it a second time is going to make it true. "The house does feel a lot smaller with her family in it, but I suppose that’s something we’ll have to get used to.” 

Harry gulps. He thinks about the never ending corridors, the labyrinths of rooms, the way Hillsbridge Manor seems to never end, and he closes his eyes, mouth twisting in a painful grimace. Louis already can’t stand her and feels like she’s invading, and they haven’t even said their vows yet.  

“Maybe she shouldn’t be a member of your family then,” he says despite himself.  

“Excuse me.”  

“If she doesn’t like tea and she makes your house feel like a prison, maybe you shouldn’t allow her into your family then,” Harry says, articulating every word carefully.  

“This?" Louis huffs, jaws clenching uncomfortably. "Again?”  

“What? The fact that I care about your happiness? Yes! Yes! This, again!” Harry replies sarcastically. 

“I told you-”  

“You hate her Louis. You can’t stand her and you don’t have to marry her. You don’t have to marry a woman you hate. I know you feel like you do, but you don’t okay. Just… Trust me on this,” Harry begs, a second away from saying too much. 

“I never said I hated her,” Louis protests, body stiff and gaze empty of warmth.

“You didn’t have to. I know you, Louis. I know you. You’ve been rolling your eyes whenever she’s mentioned, and you’ve been sighing, and you feel like your house is too small, and you just said she doesn’t like tea! Which is probably the most heinous crime _you_ can think of! So don’t stand here and tell me you don’t hate her because I know you, Louis Tomlinson.”  

“I don’t think you should come here anymore,” Louis replies, emptily.  

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks, shaking his head. He shouldn’t have said anything. He knows he shouldn’t have said anything.  

“It’s not right,” Louis says sadly. “It’s just… You being here? And talking to me all the time? It’s not right. I’m wasting my life away talking to you and you’re not even real. You won’t be real for decades!” 

“I am real,” Harry argues weakly because he knows better, knows exactly what Louis means. He knows because he feels it too, he wishes more than anything that Louis could be real too.  

“It’s not what is supposed to happen, Harry. People are born in the time they were supposed to and that’s where they should stay. You coming here? It’s wrong. You’re a constant reminder of what I can’t have and it’s just… I can’t do it anymore. It’s driving me insane! You’re here with your idealistic discourse and I just… I have to focus.”

“I won’t do it anymore, okay? I… I won’t say anything. I’ll be supportive, I promise,” Harry babbles, feeling his eyes filling with tears.  

“You can’t promise that Harry. It’s who you are. You want better for me and I appreciate you so much for it. No words could say how much. But I’m asking you, please, if I ever was your friend, don’t come here anymore.”  

“Louis -”  

“I have to propose,” Louis says with a shaky voice. “This week, or the next. Soon. I have to propose and I can’t… I can’t focus when you look at me with your big sad eyes and the belief in your voice. Please.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, feeling like someone just cut him open and mocked every single mushy feeling hiding inside. “I’ll go,” he adds, turning away and not saying goodbye.  

He doesn’t have the strength to. 

* 

He calls Niall as soon as he walks past the gates, dropping into his arms when he and Zayn show up to pick him up ten minutes later.  

“Hey, hey,” Niall says soothingly, shushing him a little, running his hand up and down Harry’s back. “You’re okay. Let it out.” 

Zayn gets out of the car too and comes closer to them, putting his hand on Harry’s arm. “What happened?” he asks.  

“Louis,” Harry says, inhaling deeply and untangling himself from Niall’s arms. He rubs at his eyes, trying to stop himself from crying. “He… He’s getting married. He… He doesn’t want me to go see him anymore. He said… He said he couldn’t stand it and he couldn’t focus when I’m there.”

Zayn and Niall exchange a heavy look. 

“He’s probably just upset. This can’t be easy for him,” Niall says carefully.

“He doesn’t want to see me again. He said he needs to live his own life… without me.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it,” Zayn replies. “You’ll go back in a few days and everything will be fine. You’ll see.”  

“I don’t think so.”  

“Zayn is right,” Niall agrees. “You’re his best friend. It’s just a fight because he’s going through some stuff. It’s going to be okay. Just let him cool off and go back in a few days.”  

“Maybe,” Harry whispers. He can’t help but feel like something changed and neither of them can go back.

*

“There was a letter for you in the post,” his mum calls after him when he walks in late in the afternoon a few days later. 

He stops with one foot on the stairs, frowns, then turns around to walk to the kitchen where his mother’s voice is coming from.  

“Was there?” he asks, a hint confused. “In an envelope? With a stamp?” It sounds a bit strange. After all, he rarely gets proper mail, especially now that he doesn’t live in his own flat and pay his own bills. 

“Yes,” she replies with a laugh when he walks into the kitchen. He can only see her back as she unloads the dishwasher, but he suspects she’s also rolling her eyes at him. “I put it on your bed when I did your laundry,” she adds, and Harry smiles. 

“You did my laundry?” he asks happily. He never minds doing it himself, enjoys it even, but he still takes a couple of steps to properly enter the kitchen and hugs her from behind, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame in gratitude “Thank you,” he whispers in her ear before pressing a small kiss on her cheek. She must have noticed he wasn’t feeling very well these past few days and wanted to do something nice for him.

“Alright, alright. You’re welcome. I know I’m the best.”  

“You really are mum,” Harry says, pressing his cheek even further into her face and squeezing her middle. “I love you.”  

Anne laughs again. “What’s with you today?”  

Harry shrugs as he untangles himself from her. “Dunno,” he mumbles.  

“Alright, well dinner should be ready in half an hour if you’re staying in tonight. Now go read your mail,” she says, pushing him towards the door.  

He perks up at the reminder that he has proper mail, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs in less than five seconds. When he finally walks into his bedroom, he spots the letter sitting on his pillow and he lets himself fall on the bed, crawling on his belly to get to the envelope. There’s no return address on it, no clues at all as to what this is supposed to be about, nothing beyond his name and address in a delicate loopy handwriting. He opens it quickly, tearing the envelope apart with no care in his excitement to discover what this means. He really hopes it’s not some sort of spam or publicity. 

As it turns, when Harry finally unfolds the letter and starts reading, he wishes it had indeed been some sort of spam or publicity.

_Dear Mr. Styles,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Doris Wilson. As you probably already know, I have previously spoken with your associate Mr. Horan about the history of Hillsbridge Manor, where my family resided until the late 1920s. I’m writing you today with the unfortunate news of my eldest brother’s passing. As I recall, you and Mr. Horan were particularly interested in him and his status as heir to the Estate and our father’s title, and it felt only right to personally send you the news. I thought you would want to know that Louis went very peacefully in his sleep. It was as good a death as one can get, I suppose._  

 _Louis didn’t have much, but what he did have he chose to leave to my brother Ernest and I. It is mostly silly things, but there is some family memorabilia you and your associates might find interesting in your research about the Manor and the family. Feel free to contact either of us, if the need or desire arises._  

 _Louis would, however, have wanted you to have this._  

_Yours sincerely,_

_Doris Wilson._  

Harry blinks and he’s surprised to feel a lone tear sliding down his cheek. He brushes it off shakily, mentally telling himself off for being so ridiculously emotional. What if Louis passed away? He was an old man, a very old man, and according to his sister, he didn’t suffer. It’s not like Harry won’t see him again. He just has to bike to the manor and he’ll see the man that has become his closest of friends, more than his friends. He’ll see him again, this man who brightens his days, who makes him smile. There’s no need for him to panic, no need to cry. There’s no need to be upset like this. He’s just being silly.  

Harry gulps, rereading the last few lines of the letters with furrowed brows. _Louis would, however, have wanted you to have this._ He inhales deeply before looking at the smaller envelope he hadn’t noticed in between the folded sheets of the letter, feeling a tad overwhelmed at the thought of Louis leaving him something. He’s not quite sure he wants to open it, but he supposes he must, if that’s Louis’ last gift to him, then as a friend, as a… whatever it is that they are that makes Louis the most important person in his life, despite his lack of actual physical presence in it, Harry must. It’s Louis’ last wish about him and Harry feels a bit nauseous. So he closes his eyes and inhales deeply before opening the envelope and looking down at the small stacks of photos Louis apparently wanted him to have.

Harry exhales shakily as he flips through the pictures with confusion, heart beating loudly in his chest. There are a few pictures of the manor itself, but more importantly, there are pictures of Louis, of his family, of the people that mattered the most to him. Harry flips through a bit quicker, eyes roaming the photos of Louis hugging his sisters with crinkly eyes, of Louis playing with them in the stables, of Louis’ parents dancing with eyes closed… They’re intimate pictures, private pictures, all of them, and Harry frowns as he tries to understand. Why would Louis want _him_ of all people to have those? Why would Doris fulfill this wish of his when she could keep such a precious family heirloom?  

He’s touched, of course, because Louis is special, more important to him than words could say, but he’s still confused as he looks through them, trying to blink away the tears and keep his composure.  

He loses it entirely when he finally reaches the last picture with a small gasp. His hands, treacherous and shaky, abandon him as the pictures slip through his fingers and the photos tumble down, pooling around him on the floor. For a dreadfully long second, Harry feels like he can’t breathe.  

He falls to the ground with a choked sob. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself shakily, trying to find the picture again amidst the chaos he’s accidentally created. He pushes away two photos of Louis’ smiling face, feeling his heart lurch painfully at the sight.  

He’s starting to think he might have imagined it when his fingers wrap around it again. He inhales sharply once he’s faced with it once more, the biggest part of him ready to deny its mere existence, unable to acknowledge that what he’s seeing could ever be real.  

But there’s no denying it, it’s his face captured on the pellicle.

It’s his face, his body, angled towards Louis, their arms wrapped around each other, touching for real, _finally_ , and for one scorching instant, Harry is filled with irrational jealousy, a longing fiercer than anything he’s ever felt before. Because this is it, what he wants more than anything in the world, and what he’s always known he couldn’t have. This is what he tried to force himself into not wanting because no matter how many impossible things he’s witnessed, Harry has always known Louis is and would remain, just out of reach.  

He shakes his head, disbelieving, then gulps, eyelashes wet with unshed tears.  

It makes no sense. It makes no sense. Yet, no matter how many times he tells it to himself, the photo remains unchanged, Harry and Louis, together, sharing the same frame. It’s his nose and his eyes and his dimple next to Louis’ eyelashes and his incredible cheekbones. It’s them, together and it feels almost rude to look at it because they seem so close, so intimate, that Harry shivers uncomfortably like he’s interrupting.  

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, dropping the picture to the floor. He brings both of his hand to his face, hiding in them and whispering again: “fuck." 

He waits a few seconds, kneeling on the floor with nothing but the sounds of his harsh breathing in his ears as he tries to fully realise what this means.  

_Louis would, however, have wanted you to have this._

He thinks back to that day when they visited Louis, the old Louis, the real Louis. He thinks back to emotional blue eyes and a wrinkled face, to the way Louis held his hand so tight and looked at Harry like he was the most important sight he’d ever seen.  

It feels like puzzle pieces slowly slotting into place and painting an impossible, yet undeniable truth. It feels like every answer is at the tip of his tongue. It feels like his future is spreading out in front of him, better than he could have ever hoped for, and even more confusing. It feels like Louis reached out to him from beyond the grave to lead him back home.  

Harry takes his hands away from his face and stares at the picture again.  

He looks happy. He looks so happy and suddenly, it’s not scary or confusing anymore.

* 

He’s out of breath by the time he arrives at the library, pushing the door open loudly and staring at Zayn with wide, and probably alarmed, eyes.  

“Harry?” Zayn asks, getting up and reaching for him from across his desk. “Are you alright?”  

Harry gulps, trying to slow his breathing, regretting leaving in such a hurry that he didn’t think to grab his inhaler. He shakes his head though, trying to silently convey everything he’s feeling to Zayn without words.  

“What happened? What’s wrong?”  

“You found it, didn’t you,” Harry finally says after a few more seconds and it’s not a question. He tries his hardest not to cry again, but he feels stretched thin and vulnerable, exposed by the truth of what he’s thinking about doing.  

“Found what?” Zayn asks as he walks around his desk to plant himself firmly in front of Harry, putting two reassuring hands on his shoulders.  

“Don’t do this,” Harry declares, hating the way his voice cracks. “Not now, not to me. Don’t lie. I know you found it.” 

Zayn’s face falls and he gulps, taking his hands away from Harry’s shoulders to link his fingers tightly together. Harry swears he can see him subtly shaking. 

“The bruise in time,” Harry continues even if he knows by the look on Zayn’s face that he doesn’t need to elaborate.  

“I was going to tell you,” Zayn promises. “I swear. I only found the passage between our time and Louis’ by accident in this old religious text about sacred territory in England and…” he trails off, shakes his head. “How did _you_ find out it was the Chapel?”

Harry sighs. The chapel. It makes sense, he supposes. In the past year since he first met Louis, it’s the only place on the Estate he hasn’t actually visited. 

“I didn’t know it was the Chapel, I just knew you’d found it.”  

“But how?” Zayn asks with furrowed eyebrows, a suspicious glint in his eyes. He’s asking but everything about his posture screams how much he doesn’t want to know, from the way he’s angling his body away from Harry’s to the way he’s tightly folded his arms across his chest defensively.  

Harry reaches into his back pocket to grab the picture. He hands it off to Zayn who doesn’t even bother taking it.  

There’s a beat of silence while Zayn stares, then he sighs and lets his arms fall.  

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” he admits in a small voice, eyes still stuck on the photo of Harry and Louis. “I knew you’d do something stupid.”  

“Zayn -”  

“I knew that you loved him enough to want to be with him, properly,” Zayn corrects and Harry feels his eyes water and he blinks quickly trying not to cry.  

“I have to go,” he whispers, pressing the picture against his chest like it’s his most precious belonging.  

“Are you sure?” Zayn asks and he looks like someone fighting a losing battle, like he knows that no matter what he’s going to say, Harry isn’t going to listen. He’s right. “We don’t know if it works both ways, you might never be able to come home if you change your mind.”

“That’s my home,” Harry replies, looking at the picture. “He’s my home.”  

“Alright,” Zayn nods, “then come with me.”  

* 

Zayn’s flat is both nothing like Harry expected and everything like Harry expected. It’s messier than he imagined, plates towering on the coffee table in the living room, and while he didn’t assume Zayn was a neat freak, Harry thought there’d be more than one spot on his sofa without a pile of clothes. Harry eyes them suspiciously before sitting down in the empty seat, giving the clothes what he hopes is a subtle sniff.  They smell clean at least, Harry figures as he crosses his legs and watches Zayn walk past him and into what he assumes is the bedroom.  

“Not that I don’t appreciate the invite,” Harry calls after him, itching to grab the plates and put them in the kitchen sink, at least. Although looking at the state of the place, it’s probably safe to assume the sink is already full. “But I’ve made a life-changing, and I do mean a literally life-altering, decision here. I don’t exactly have time for…. Whatever this is.”  

“Just give me a second! You’ll want what I’m looking for!” Zayn calls from the bedroom as he looks through his stuff loudly, dropping items on the floor without care if the noises Harry can hear are right. “Just take a book and distract yourself for a minute.”  

Harry looks to the floor, to the piles of books surrounding the coffee table, the piles of books at the bottom of the bookcase, the pile of books next to the telly… Yes, Zayn’s flat is exactly what he expected.

Turns out, he doesn’t even have the time to grab a book and distract himself, because Zayn yells triumphantly and runs out of his bedroom quickly, pushing an old shoe box in Harry’s face carelessly.

“There you go.”

Harry frowns, chuckling nervously. “What is it?” he asks, stumbling a little over his words.  

“Take it,” Zayn insists and if Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think he’s blushing.  

He’s still staring at the box in confusion when Zayn sighs loudly, shaking it in front of Harry’s face.  

“Alright, alright!” Harry says, grabbing the box and opening it. His eyes widen when he sees the bills inside. “Wh… wha…” 

“I haven’t counted exactly,” Zayn starts to explain quickly, passing a nervous hand through his hair and looking at the floor, “but it should be good to get you started and it’s all money printed before 1925 so no one is going to think it’s weird or refuse it to you. I know it’s not much, but we couldn’t afford more. You know how money collectors are about this shit.” 

“We?” Harry asks with a gulp, feeling his throat close up and his eyes starting to sting.  

“Niall and I… we’ve been preparing. We just figured that if you go to him, his family might kick him out, and then you’d be stuck in an unfamiliar time period with no money and… I don’t know, we just want you to be okay, you know?” 

“So, Niall knew about the Chapel?” Harry asks, eyes fixed on the money. He can’t believe they did this for him.  

“It’s only been a couple of weeks, I promise, and we just wanted to be sure before we talked to you. We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it if it turned out to be a false alarm. And we wanted to be sure you’d be prepared, whatever choice you made.”  

“You… you knew I was going to do this,” Harry says, feeling awkwardly transparent. He thought he had managed to keep his feelings for Louis under wrap, that he’d been good at pretending them being on two opposite sides of history didn’t matter. But his friends saw right through him anyway. He’s not sure if it’s comforting or not, but there’s something about the constant reassurance and certainty of a friend who knows you that makes Harry’s nerves and shock settle down.  

“Well, aren’t you?”  

“I love him,” Harry declares and it feels like the picture of him and Louis is burning a hole through his jeans, through his very soul.  

“Good enough for me.”  

“I’m going to pay you back, I promise. I’m going to-”  

“No,” Zayn interrupts firmly, pushing the clothes on his sofa to the floor to sit next to Harry. “You don’t have to do that,” he adds, stroking Harry’s arm reassuringly. “It’s a gift, okay? A goodbye gift, and the only way you can repay us is by saying goodbye properly before going through. To both me and Niall, because he’s never going to forgive me if I let you go and he doesn’t get to hug you one last time, alright?”  

Harry’s eyes fill with tears when he hears the way Zayn’s voice catches on the last word and he sniffs loudly, pushing the box away to wrap his arm around Zayn, this man he never thought he would understand, this unlikely friend who has done so much for him.  

“I would never leave without saying goodbye to him, to both of you,” Harry whispers into Zayn’s shoulder fiercely. “Never.”

* 

When Harry finally walks home, the first thing he does is drop the box on the kitchen table and gets himself a glass of water. 

"What have you got there?” his mum asks, peering at the box with curious eyes. She doesn’t pry, doesn’t touch. She’s always been so respectful of his privacy. The best type of mother a boy could ask for.  
  
"A gift,” Harry says quietly before taking a sip of water. “From Zayn."  
  
"A nice gift?"  
  
Harry's eyes fill with tears. He sniffs, then nods. "Yeah," he agrees with a shaky voice. "A very nice gift."  
  
"Oh, honey," she says, taking his glass of water and dropping it on the table before wrapping him in a big hug. He snuggles into her deeply, his arms locked around her, the awareness that this is his last hug throbbing through him like a bruise. “What’s going on?”  

“Just life, mum,” Harry whispers in her shoulder. “Just life.”  

“Oh, baby,” she replies reassuringly, burying her hand in his hair. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

*

In the end, all it takes is walking through the Chapel, the door creaking loudly behind him as he steps in.  

Harry couldn’t tell when it happens, what particular stone he walks over that takes him back. He just makes his way through the sacred space with wide eyes, taking in the beauty and the history of the place. There’s no mists, no high pitched noise, no humming, no shimmering through the air. Harry just strolls through the Tomlinsons’ Chapel and when he finally walks out, Zayn and Niall are gone, and Harry knows, deep in his bones, that he’s not in 2017 anymore.  

He makes his way to the manor slowly, observing the forest with wide eyes, trying to take in all the way it's changed through a century, trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes him so convinced, but he can’t find it. By the time he’s made the detour into the stables to hide his things, Harry is so nervous he feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest.  

He looks up to Hillsbridge Manor, sees it properly for the first time, and he smiles.  

He walks in through the front door, relieved to see the foyer is empty and so are the corridors. He makes his way through the house with wide eyes, overwhelmed by its beauty, trying to think of where Louis could be hiding.  

When he walks into the library, he has to stop himself from gasping.  

Harry has tried to imagine more than once what Hillsbridge Manor looked like at its prime. He’s tried to look beyond the dust to picture the world Louis and his family navigated so effortlessly. He’s tried to colour the countless pictures he’s seen with his mind. He’s tried to put himself in them and imagine how he would feel to be there for real, if only just once. This room in particular he’s tried to imagine most of all. Now that he’s here though, now that he’s crossed over the barriers that separated Louis from him, he realises that there was no way he could ever fully picture the grandiosity of the place. It’s overwhelming. It’s more than overwhelming… It’s beautiful.

And yet, Harry doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the building, doesn’t care about the paintings and the books. The sparkling luxury of the whole place fades into the background as he spots Louis in the corner of the library. He’s sitting at a small desk, busy writing God knows what, and he hasn’t seen Harry yet, too buried in his work to notice the sound of the door opening.

Harry takes a step forward, trying to think of what to say. He’s shaky with the thought of everything that’s to come, of the decision that he’s made.

“Liam, could you bring me a cup of tea, when you have a second?” Louis asks absently when the floor creaks, nose still buried in his papers.

Harry stops, heart pounding in his chest. There’s no turning back now. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t know how. He hasn’t studied the way their time periods press together as Zayn did. He barely understands how this works, how he managed to cross over, but he’s here. Incredibly, miraculously, Harry is here; a few steps away from the love of his life.

He’s trying to think of what to do and what to say, when Louis finally looks away from his papers.

“Harry,” he says weakly before dropping his pen and getting up from his chair. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice more forceful this time. “I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t come here anymore,” he chastises angrily. “I can’t keep having conversations with an echo of the future, not if I want to secure my family’s.”

“Don’t marry her,” Harry says and he hates how pleading his voice is. He’s already asked, already told Louis everything he needs to know, and it hasn’t worked. Nothing he’s said has worked so far, but he knows now, knows deep in his bones, that they are meant for each other.

“Don’t do this to me,” Louis fires through gritted teeth. “Don’t make this harder than this has to be. Go back home.”

“This place is not your future.”

“You don’t know that!” Louis yells.

“Yes, I do know that,” Harry replies angrily, taking a step forward, so close to Louis yet so far still. If he wanted, he’d only have to reach out to touch him, to finally touch this man he’s wanted for so long.

He stops a breath away and look into Louis’ eyes, sees his anger and the pain under it.

“I know that this place, this woman, isn’t your future Louis, because I am,” he whispers before gently cupping Louis’ face, seeing his eyes widen in shock at the touch, at what it means.

“You…” he shakes his head, tries to take a step back, but Harry’s there, holding him in place, brushing their nose together.

“Louis,” he says in an exhale, shaky and overwhelmed before pressing their lips together lightly once. He takes a step back, lets his hands slip away from Louis’ face in a soft caress.

But Louis doesn’t let him go. He grabs at Harry’s clothes, brings him back in, presses their bodies together in a gasp, lips hungry and biting as they kiss again. And again. And again. They kiss longer than they should in such an open room but it’s like they’ve both forgotten where and who they are. Harry doesn’t know anything beyond the feeling of Louis’ hands sneaking in his hair.

“Wait…” Louis gasps, pushing Harry away. He turns around for a second, breathing deeply “We can’t be doing this. You can’t…” He shakes his head, facing Harry again. “How did you get here? What did you do?” he asks and Harry hadn’t noticed he was crying, but there are tears on his face and he looks so confused. He kisses Harry again, like he can’t quite believe that he’s here, that they can touch, finally. “God, Harry,” he sobs. “What did you do?”

“Zayn found it,” Harry explains, glancing at the closed library door for a second before slipping his fingers through Louis’. He can feel him shake and Harry starts taking his hand away, scared he might be pressuring him too much when he feels Louis’ fingers gripping his tighter. He smiles a little, in the corner of his mouth, eyes dropping to the place where they’re linked.

Louis frowns. “What?”

“The bruise in time,” Harry explains. “The place where our timelines touch,” he adds, rubbing his thumb against Louis’. “I had to come. I had to see you for real. I… I couldn’t bear the thought of never kissing you.”

Louis gulps, closing his eyes for a second. “But you can go back? Right? If it works in one direction, it must work in the other.”

“I’m not going to do that Louis,” Harry replies firmly. He knows what Louis is trying to do, knows he’s probably only trying to protect him.

“You have to,” Louis says sternly and he’s not crying anymore. “You have to go home. You don’t belong here.”

“I belong with you.”

“Stop it,” Louis hisses, taking his hand away. “Stop it. You’ve kissed me now; you’ve done it, no regrets. Now go back home, please. Let me do my duty.”

“Lou-“

“What were you thinking?” Louis continues angrily. “You have a future in the future… an _actual_ future where you can truly be yourself. Openly. And you come _here_?

“There’s more freedom in a second spent with you than there is in a lifetime in the present, Louis. What is it worth? To hold a man’s hand in front of the whole world, if he’s not the person I love? If the person I love is _here_?”

“Don’t say that, please.”

“Why? Because you know you feel the same and it scares you?”

“Because you’re making it very hard for me to say no to you, Harry.”

Harry smiles despite himself. “You’re not going to say no.”

“I have to,” Louis argues. “Or, what? We’re going to hide? I’m going to marry that American girl and you’re going to be my mistress? Is that what you want? To live in the shadows in this shitty world, where people think we’re foul? We’re sick? Where loving me could put you in jail? You deserve better than that.”

“ _You_ deserve better than that,” Harry snaps back. “And you’re not going to marry her.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going to ask her tomorrow. My entire family expects it. Her entire family expects it. It’s a good match, and it’s going to save the Estate.”

“No. You’re not. You’re not going to marry her Louis. You’re not going to save the Estate. I told you. I know you, Louis Tomlinson. I’ve seen your future and it doesn’t include some random American heiress who wants to buy herself a title. It doesn’t include a loveless marriage for a doomed cause. It includes _me._ It includes _us._ Together. I’m meant to be here. I know you’re meant to be with me. I’ve seen it Louis, so for once in your life can you just… shut up. Shut up and kiss me.”

“How?” Louis asks shakily. “How can you be so sure?”

“You’re not shutting up,” Harry teases softly, reaching for Louis’ cheek. “And I know because of Doris.”

Louis’ face falls as he recognises his little sister’s name, his eyes widening in surprise. “What? How?”

“She contacted me when she realised I was looking for information about the family. She sent me some of your things, some pictures,” Harry admits and he can’t help but smile. It was scary at first, to see himself and Louis in the same frame. It was scary and overwhelming to see the way they looked at each other, a bit too besotted for the period yet seeming so right together. Louis’ hand against his bicep, soft smiles on both their faces. They looked in love.

“What pictures?” Louis says hesitantly, but the way he’s looking at Harry, scared and knowing, makes him believe he’s already figured it out.  

“I think you know,” Harry whispers. “It’s okay Louis. I… We look so in love,” he reveals like it’s his best secret. “So happy, and I really think it’s going to be alright.”

“But your family… Your life…”

Harry gulps. Leaving might have been an impulsive decision, but he doesn’t think it was a mistake. Even if the thought of never seeing the people he loves again is painful.

“I know,” he replies. “But who am I to argue with fate?”

“Big word there,” Louis teases, turning his head a little to kiss Harry’s palm.

“Do you disagree?” Harry whispers and even though he came in with all the confidence in the world, even though he’s actually seen the proof that they’re going to be together, he can’t help but feel nervous. Louis has to want this too. He gave up everything for this man, but Louis has to want him back.

There’s a little pause, like Louis isn’t quite sure yet.

“They’re going to be furious,” he finally replies with a disbelieving laugh, eyes filling with tears again. “And the Campbell’s … Oh god, they came all the way from New York for this.”

“Like the soup?” Harry asks.

But once he’s started laughing, it’s like Louis can’t stop.

“Louis?” Harry asks, feeling a bit worried.

“I’m sorry,” Louis giggles and suddenly he’s hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Harry’s lower back, holding him tightly there as he laughs and laughs.

“Are you okay?”

Louis takes a deep breath and finally calms down but he keeps hugging Harry, face still hidden. “I am,” he replies, both muffled and relieved. “I’m… This a lot.”

“But it’s good, right?” Harry asks and he hates how vulnerable he sounds.

Louis untangles himself from Harry so fast that he doesn’t have the time to process it. One second they’re nestled close together, the next Harry shivers and he’s missing the feeling of Louis’ body against his.

“Harry…” Louis says and there’s so much in it, so much warmth and disbelief, so much devotion. “My future boy,” he whispers, reaching up to press a kiss on Harry’s forehead.  

*

Louis is still shaky as he drags Harry through the house with determination, fingers tight around Harry’s wrists as he makes sure every corridor is empty while he leads them to the bedrooms upstairs. Harry’s heart jumps in his throat when they walk into what can only be Louis’. Even though he knows nothing is going to happen, he can’t help but feel privileged at finally being allowed in a new part of his life, at being welcomed in despite his intrusive and unexpected arrival. 

Louis drops his wrist when they finally walk in, pushing Harry out of the doorway to close and lock it carefully. He turns around and rests against the door for a second, a delicate hand reaching up to fiddle with his fringe as he clearly avoids Harry’s gaze. He sighs.  

Harry gulps as he watches, trying to kill every single one of his instincts that tells him to grab Louis’ trembling fingers, to comfort him. He’s the one who made him so upset, so overwhelmed, and a part of him can’t help but feel like maybe he’s explained this wrong, maybe he went too hard too fast, maybe he shouldn’t have been so damn stubborn and arrogant.  

“Louis -” Harry starts saying, voice raspy like he hasn’t used it in years and, in a way, it feels like it. It feels like they’ve been standing there for a lifetime, while Louis thinks.  

He doesn’t reply, just raises his hand in a clear pleading call for Harry to stop, as he pushes himself away from the door and walks casually to his wardrobe. 

Closing his mouth and staying silent is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but if that’s what Louis needs then Harry will do everything in his power to offer it to him. Harry would do everything in his power to offer him anything he wants. Louis has sunken deep into Harry’s soul, crashed there with no hope of ever regaining the shore, no hope of ever leaving. He is part of Harry now.  

Louis starts fumbling through his clothes and maybe it’s nerves, maybe he hasn’t quite realised what Harry was saying, what Harry was asking. Maybe he’s confused, but he keeps looking at various shirts and making humming noises.  

“What are you doing?” Harry asks after a couple of unbearable minutes. So much for giving Louis the space he needs, but he can’t live in this uncertainty. “Are you getting ready for dinner with... _them_?” he adds, unable to say their names, to say _her_ name. He knows Louis isn’t going to marry her. He knows more than anyone, but he can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought that she could have him, this little Miss Nobody with a lot of money. She could have him easily and everyone wants her to. Louis’ family, Louis’ society… They all want her to, and Harry is burning with rage at how easy it is for her. 

Louis chuckles nervously, finally meeting Harry’s gaze as he drops two pairs of trousers on his bed, his mouvement still frantic. “You don’t like that idea,” he states with pursed lips.  

Harry inhales deeply, hating to be so transparent, yet knowing there’s not much he can do to hide how possessive he feels. “It’s none of my business.”  

“It’s not what you were saying earlier.”  

“I can’t make you do anything Louis,” Harry says softly, rubbing his fingers against his thigh nervously. “And I wouldn’t want to.”  

There’s a beat of silence, a shared knowing look, before Louis smiles. It looks wrong on his face, looks twisted a bit, like he wants to be happy, but cannot. Not fully. Harry frowns.  

“I’m not going to dinner with them,” Louis declares and he still sounds wrong. “I’m going to call Liam now, so you should probably hide.”  

“Liam? Why?”  

“I need his help packing my things, I know I’ll probably have to learn to do things for myself now, but I can beneficiate from his help one last time,” Louis explains like any part of that sentence made sense.  

“Packing?” Harry asks, taking a step forwards towards the bed, the miles of duvet and pillows separating them as they stare into each other’s eyes. “One last time? Louis, what are you talking about?”  

“I have to come with you, no? Isn’t that what destiny says?” Louis replies fiercely. There are tears in his eyes. “If I pick you, it means I’m rejecting them. So, I have to leave.”  

“No,” Harry says loudly, hotly. “You don’t have to choose between me or them, I would never ask that of you.”  

Louis sighs. “But they will,” he explains. “What do you think they’re going to say? When I tell them I’m not marrying? When I tell them I can’t do this one simple thing to save my family from ruin? Do you think they’ll accept it, accept me, with open arms? They’ll disown me, pretend like I never existed. I’d rather gather my things and some valuables before they get a chance to throw me out on the streets with nothing.”  

“Louis -”  

“It’s alright,” Louis replies in a small voice. “I know what I need to do.”  

“You don’t have to choose straight away. We don’t have to leave today. We don’t… we don’t have to ever leave completely. Just… put all of this back and go to dinner. Don’t say anything, just enjoy the good food and have fun with your sisters. I’ll go to the village, get a room. Then we can talk about what we want to do, what we can do. We’re in no hurry, right? I know I seemed pushy earlier and overconfident, but please Louis…”  

Harry stops himself for a second, trying to find the right words, the right way to explain everything that he’s feeling, everything that he wants for this man who was given the world on a silver platter and still deserves so much more than that lonely life.  

“I love you,” he finally says softly.  

It’s the first time he’s said it in so many words, but it feels like the thousandth. The words feel soft with use, like he’s been telling Louis he loves him every day of the hundred years that used to separate them.  

“The only thing that I want in this world is for you to be happy,” Harry continues. “And I truly believe that your happiness lies with me.” 

Louis smiles softly at the comment, his cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink.  

“I do,” Harry insists, slowly starting to make his way around the bed to get to Louis’ side. “But you have to want this, want me, too. And it’s okay if you don’t know yet;  if you want to think about it, if you want to figure out what you’re going to tell your family, or what we’re going to do. I don’t want you to have any regrets.” 

Louis reaches for Harry’s hand, tangling their fingers together, and he takes a small step forwards, bringing their bodies close together, their chest brushing against each other.  

“I could never regret you, Harry,” Louis whispers before brushing their lips together.  

“I just mean-”  

“I know what you mean, darling,” Louis says easily like he hasn’t just killed Harry with softness. “But we’ll do it your way. You’re right. I’m not ready to… It’s like you said, we need to figure out what we want to do, and what we can do. Do you need money?” 

“What?” Harry laughs, bumping their nose together just because he can.  

Louis scrunches his in response. He tugs on Harry’s arm as he replies. “For the room? In the village?”

“Oh. No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure, because -”

“It’s fine Louis, I have some stuff,” Harry insists. He didn’t travel ninety-two years in the past to be a kept man. “I brought my camera, and clothes, and some money so don’t worry about it, alright?”  

Louis frowns a little, eyeing Harry up and down.  

“I’ve hidden it in the stables,” Harry explains with a casual shrug. “Before I came to see you. I figured Olivia would be a good guardian. You were right, by the way. She is a beauty.”  

“Oh, alright. Then go get your stuff. I’ll clean up in here and meet you up front to walk you to the village,” Louis says, letting go of Harry’s hand.  

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily, taking a small step backwards, unable to stop looking at Louis quite yet.  

Louis smiles Harry’s favourite smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle and lights up a room, the one that soothes Harry’s soul of all its worries and sorrows.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Louis admits with a delicate shrug.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, grin widening, a mixture of elation and cockiness spreading over his face.

“Ecstatic even.” 

“Euphoric,” Harry adds teasingly.  

“Blissful.”

“Overjoyed.”  

“I love you too,” Louis says, breaking their teasing banter with a serious face. “You being here… It’s everything I never dared to dream of. Everything I thought I could never have.”

“Louis,” Harry gasps, reaching for him and wrapping him into a crushing hug, their heads hiding in each other’s shoulders, their hands digging into each other’s flesh.  

The room in the village can wait for a bit.


	5. Epilogue - Fall

Harry has been gone for two months and a half – long enough for the police to start acting like they shouldn’t be hoping so much – when the man shows up at Gemma’s door. It’s early morning and she’s trying to focus on her article but the words seem to blur together. She can’t quite fully concentrate on anything these days, a part of her brain always busy thinking about Harry. Wondering if he’s okay or if he’s even alive; the never-ending cycle of anxiety humming continuously in the background. He’s her little brother and it’s in her DNA to worry about him after looking out for him most of their lives. The thought that she might never get to do it again, that he might be dead in a ditch somewhere and she’ll never know, makes her feel a bit nauseous and she pushes her laptop away before getting up nervously. It’s the waiting that’s the worst, Gemma supposes. If only she could know for sure.

When the knock on the door comes, she shivers, filled with the sudden, and inexplicable, certainty that answering the door is going to change everything. She shakes her head, feeling rather foolish. It’s not like Gemma believes in presentiment. She never has. Still, she takes the time to rinse her tea mug before answering, a part of her still trying to delay the inevitable.

She frowns a little, surprised when she opens the door to find a kind looking old man patiently waiting on her doorstep.

“Hi,” Gemma says slowly, uncertain. The man seems familiar but she can’t quite place him. A neighbour perhaps, she thinks before speaking again. “Can I help you, Sir?”

“Oh, I think I’m here to help you actually,” the man says with a soft smile. “My name is Ernest Tomlinson,” he adds, taking off his hat and tipping it towards her in a friendly gesture.

She gulps as she recognises the name, a flash of anger coursing through her. Those damned Tomlinsons and their damned house.

“What do you want?” she asks coldly, folding her arms across her chest and moving a bit to the left to fully block the entrance to her flat.

“May I come in?”

“I don’t think so,” Gemma replies shortly. “I’m not very comfortable with strangers in my house.”

“Are we strangers? Really?” Ernest Tomlinson asks and it makes her so angry that she has to restrain herself from slamming the door in his face. She can’t, not yet. Not until she knows why he’s here. He might have information about Harry, after all.

“What is it that you want exactly? Is this about my brother? Because if it’s about your stupid manor and the information I was helping him find, then you should know that –”

“Harry disappeared,” Ernest says solemnly. “I know, I’m sorry. And yes, that is why I am here.”

“What did you do to him?” she demands, taking a step forward and trying to look menacing.

“I didn’t do anything to him, no one did. He’s fine… in a matter of speaking.”

“You better stop playing _now_ and tell me exactly what you’re doing here, and where my brother is before I-”

“I’m here because he asked me to deliver something to you a long time ago and I promised him that I would,” Ernest says, holding out a thick notebook for her to take.

Gemma frowns, shaking her head. “What is that supposed to mean? A long time ago? He didn’t even know you?”

“Please,” Ernest Tomlinson begs, pushing the notebook into her hands, “I know this is difficult for you and I can’t imagine how much you miss him, but I promised him I would give this to you.”

She takes the notebook with shaky hands, looking at this old man and his pleading eyes. She’s not sure what this is all supposed to mean, not sure what she’s supposed to believe, but he looks sincere if nothing else.

She opens the book, gasping when her eyes fall on an old picture stuck to the cover. It’s Harry, because of course it is, and he looks so sweet that she’s hit with a wave of longing so fierce that she has to hold on to the door until it passes. She blinks quickly, hoping she won’t start crying in front of this nonsensical stranger, but the way Ernest is looking at her, soft and compassionate, makes her feel like he knows every single thing she’s feeling, can read it all easily on her face.

She lets her gaze drop to the picture again, this grainy black and white photo, and it’s only then that she notices the other man for the first time. Their arms are around each other and they’re both smiling like they couldn’t be happier like this is the best day of their lives. In different circumstances, she would smile back, happy to see her brother happy, but the picture is just another part of the puzzle she can’t put together. It’s frustrating and scary. And she still doesn’t know if Harry is still alive. She frowns, looking at the intimacy of the photo, and she’s about to demand what it’s supposed to even mean when she notices the hastily written note at the bottom. Her heart skips a beat.

_H.E.S & L.W.T Oct. 1936 _

“W-what is this? What does this mean?” Gemma asks, pointing to the picture, the inscription.

“It’s a family picture,” Ernest explains. He points to the other man. “This is my older brother, Louis. He passed away recently.”

Gemma inhales deeply, trying to find her balance, to find a way to say these things nicely.

“Listen, Mr. Tomlinson, I’m not trying to be heartless,” she finally replies after a few seconds. “I’m sorry about your brother, that must have been difficult for you to lose him, but I still don’t understand what this is supposed to mean and why you’re here? Who is this if it’s not Harry? Are we related in some ways? Is that why you’re here? Is this man related to Harry? Is that why he wanted me to have this?” she asks, pointing to the photo she could have sworn was of her brother. It’s uncanny and terrifying, how similar they look from the soft curve of their mouths to their posture.

“I guess it depends on how you define related, Gemma,” Ernest shrugs mysteriously and he says her name like they’ve known each other their whole lives. “But that is your brother. That’s a picture of Harry.”

“You said it was a picture of _your_ brother,” she says accusingly. She should have just slammed the door in his face when she first got the instinct. He’s just playing with her, talking but not saying anything and hurting her feelings in the process.

“It’s both.”

“I think there are a couple of reasons why that’s not exactly possible, first of all, the fact that they were born centuries apart.”

“Is that really a factor then?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but- ”

“Read the letters,” Ernest says. “He wanted me to tell you to read the letters. I’m sorry I’m not explaining any of this very well, but Harry can. He thought long and hard on how to do this.”

“Letters?” Gemma asks.

Ernest points to the notebook and she glances down again, noticing the envelope stuck in it for the first time. _Read Me First!!!_ is written in Harry’s neat, boxy handwriting on it and Gemma loses her breath for a second when she notices. This can’t be…

She turns away from Ernest, walking back into her flat, vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind her. She shakily puts the leather book down on her kitchen table, tearing the envelope open with more violence than she intended, dying to know what the fuck is going on.

_My dearest Gemma,_

_I’ve tried to find the words to explain this all to you so many times over the years. I have the embarrassing drafts of this letter to prove it! I always seemed to fall short though. I never quite manage to make this right. I guess, what I’m trying to say is: this is hard. It’s going to be hard for me and probably even harder for you, but I need you to try to understand. I need you to read until the end. And most of all, I need you to believe._

_The truth is by the time you read these words I will be long dead._

_I know it’s been a few months for you since I blinked out of existence and I can only imagine how you, mum, dad and Robin must be feeling. I can only apologise from the bottom of my heart. I never wanted you to worry about me, but I did what I had to do._

_God, this is so difficult. You’d think doing this in a letter would make things easier, would allow me to truly think this through and have the perfect way to explain. But I would give anything for you to be here in front of me so I could slowly and awkwardly tell it all to you in person. So I could hug you, and thank you, one last time._

_You’re smart enough to have figured out by now that my disappearance had something to do with Hillsbridge Manor. It was never haunted, you know? I can imagine your face as you read those words; that little eye roll and exasperated pout that means of course not, you idiot!!!!_

_I miss that._

_But no matter how big your scepticism is; I was right. There is something abnormal about that place and it’s not ghosts. Some people call it a temporal displacement. My friend Zayn said it was a bruise in time. No matter what name you give to it, it means that two time periods coexist in that place and if someone looks closely enough, they can go through. Like I did._

_I know what you’re thinking; that I’ve gone mad, or that I’ve been drugged. That I’m on my way to have my organs sold on the black market, and that my kidnappers have one sick sense of humour. I can assure you, it’s not the case._

_It’s been a few months for you but for me… it’s been over forty years. Yeah, time travel. That’s the explanation I’m going with. Crazy Gems, trust me, I know, but it’s the God-honest truth. I fell in love Gemma. I fell in love with a man I should never have known, a man who was born a century before me, and every time I went to that manor, every time our time periods brushed, I got to know him better and better. I fell deeper and deeper in love with him. I fell in love in a way I didn’t think was possible. I fell in love like in the movies, where every sacrifice is worth it because you get to be with the person that means the most to you in the entire world, you get to be with that person you love more than anything. That’s what I found in Louis Tomlinson._

_That summer morning, I walked to the manor looking for a path across time. I wanted to be with him and I was ready to give up every comfort of the twenty-first century if it meant I could kiss him at least once in my life. Forty years on, and I still don’t regret that choice._

_I miss you, of course. I miss mum and dad. I miss Robin. I miss so many little things that you take for granted, but it only takes one of Louis’ smiles for me to know that I made the right decision. But even so, I don’t want you to think that leaving was easy or that I don’t miss you. I miss you every day. I think about you all the time. I write to you all the time. That’s what the notebooks are for. Every time I think of you, every time I want to tell you a joke, every big thing that’s happened to me that I wanted to share… It’s all there. I know it’s not the same and it breaks my heart to think that I’ll never hear from you again… but it’s the sacrifice I made for love._

_I like to imagine it sometimes… Your future. Before I fall asleep, I close my eyes and think about you and all the wonderful things that you’re going to accomplish, and then I’m not so sad anymore because I know you’ll be okay, even if I’m not there to see it._

_Always your brother, Harry._

_x_

_P.S. I found Mr. Anonymous. Turns out it was me all along. Louis and I own a photography studio and business has been good… That mixed with Louis’ inheritance, meant that I could buy back the manor when the new owners were trying to get rid of it.  I can’t afford to restore it, not right now, but I’m hoping, maybe, one day you can? I know historical societies would love to raise money for it, to turn it into a museum… Anything really, to make sure Louis and his family are never forgotten.  I know this is a big thing for me to ask and I understand if you can’t do it. I still want you to have the manor. You’re my next of kin after all. If taking care of it as best as you can mean selling it, that’s okay too. I trust you. Louis’ legacy means everything to him and he means everything to me, so hopefully, that’s somehow meaningful enough for you to do something good with it. Whatever that is. Thanks in advance. There’s no one else I would trust with this. I love you, Gemma. Always. H._

Gemma sobs, hands shaking against the paper, confused and overwhelmed.

“This is real?” she asks in a small voice and she feels like a child, needing the reassurance.

Ernest nods gravely. “It is. He talked about you all the time, you know. I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”

“God,” she sobs harder. “He’s really gone?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Where is he?” she asks through the tears.

“A cemetery up north, I can take you if you want,” Ernest explains. She sees him reaching for her through the tears, before letting his hand drop. “I have all the other notebooks in my car, there are dozens of them. Pictures and videos too. For when you’re ready.”

Gemma takes one shuddery breath, pressing the letter close to her chest, against her heart. She nods slowly. “Please, I want them.”

“They’re all yours, love,” Ernest says softly finally putting a hand on her shoulder.

“He was happy, right?” she asks because even though she’s read the words, his words, she needs to know if her baby brother was okay, if he had the wonderful and beautiful life that he deserved.

“He was,” Ernest replies, taking her in his arms and holding her tightly. “He was so, so happy and he loved you very much.”

She nods against his shoulder, thinking back to that picture, to Harry’s arm around that man that he loved enough to leave them all, and she thinks about his sparkly eyes and his wide smile.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look so blissful in her entire life and she supposes, that’s all she can ask for, isn’t it?

*

_Five Years Later_

It’s already crowded when Zayn finally makes it, a little later than he promised he would arrive. The event has already started, but everyone is drinking casually in the hall and it seems obvious none of the speeches have begun. Niall is probably going to be the only one to notice he was late. Although, Zayn figures as he spots him in one corner, busy laughing with some big donors, he might be able to get away with it.  

Zayn grins as he starts walking through the foyer after dropping a tenner into the donation box. It was Gemma’s idea and she had to fight for it, everyone involved in the project against the idea of having donations made that wouldn’t benefit the maintenance of the manor. But she’s stubborn, just as Harry is - was - and Zayn happily gives to her brother’s favourite LGBT+ charity, proud and happy that she could do that in Harry’s memory.  

It feels a little weird still to see the manor restored to its previous glory. It’s miles away from the old building he used to play hide and seek in with Niall as a child. It’s completely different than the place where he, Niall and Harry used to try to solve the mysteries of death like they had any rights to them. It feels brand new and for a place with so much history, it truly is bizarre.

It’s beautiful though, Zayn thinks as he finally walks into the hall, eyeing the grand staircase.

It took a long five years for them to get here and yet, everyone talks about how miraculous it is that they managed to get Hillsbridge Manor back to its former glory so quickly. There are a couple of rooms still unfinished even as they open for visits, but most of it truly is done, a testament to Gemma and Niall’s determination and hard work.  

“What do you think?” Gemma asks as she slides next to him, offering him a flute of champagne.  

“You know I’ve seen all of this before, right?” Zayn replies with a laugh before clinking his glass with hers and taking a sip.  

“Yes, I know. I was there. Still, you’re awfully late so complimenting my and your boyfriend’s hard work wouldn’t hurt,” she says with a fake pout.  

Sometimes, she looks so much like Harry it’s almost unbearable.  

“Fiancé,” Zayn corrects because he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get tired of saying that. “My adorable and very hot fiancé’s hard work!”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “What am I?”  

“And his delightful, oh so very beautiful, and hardworking, and stubborn partner’s hard work,” Zayn adds, and he’s not even lying to flatter her.  

What they did here is beautiful, and even if almost nobody can know it for the gesture of love that it is, Zayn does.  

“Thank you.”  

“He’d love it, you know,” Zayn says in a whisper. 

Gemma smiles. It took her a long time to get there, but there is barely a trace of sadness on her face at her brother’s mention.  

“Yeah,” she says softly, looking around with pride in her eyes. “I really think he would.”

“You did him, and them, justice.”  

“It wasn’t just me,” Gemma says defensively, truly too modest when things start to get real.  

“It was though,” Zayn argues. “Because they were all doing it for the wrong reasons. They were doing it for the history of the place, and what it represents for England, or whatever… Some of them did it for the money, for the tourists and stuff. But you did it for your family. You did it for your brother and for his family. There’s just you who did that, and maybe a bit Niall, I guess. But what I mean to say is, you did a really fucking good job, Gems.”  

She smiles and blinks quickly. “Arsehole. I have to make a speech soon and you go and say this shit, and now I’m gonna cry.”  

Zayn smirks and wraps her in a quick hug. “I’m not sorry.”  

“‘Course you’re not, you’re a dick.”  

“Hey,” he says as he lets her go, “Niall said you finished the exhibit in the library?”  

Gemma’s eyes widen and she smiles again. “Yes! Oh, it’s great. Hang on,” she says, ruffling quickly through her purse. She grabs her mobile, looks at the time, then makes a pensive face. “Come on,” she says, grabbing his arm and dragging him through the corridor to the library’s door. “We don’t have much time, but you should see it before the others,” she adds, pushing him inside.  

There are books, of course, rows and rows of books as any library should have, but, as much as Zayn adores books, it’s not what has him moved to tears. He walks through the exhibit, looking at the rows and rows of family photographs, looking at Louis and his siblings beaming happily for the camera, and gets a thrill every time he reads the labels and it says _Photograph: H. E. S._ He gets an even bigger thrill every time Harry’s face shows up, happily picking up one of the twins or staring into Louis’ eyes like a sap. There are no explicitly clear photos, of course, all of them label Harry as a family friend, but Zayn likes to think observant people will know.  

“It’s really is great Gems,” Zayn says as he stops in front of _the_ photo, the one Harry showed him five years ago with trembling fingers and a pounding heart.  

“Hey, am I interrupting?” Niall asks as he walks in. “They’re waiting for you to start, Gemma.”  

“Damn,” she mutters, vanishing from the library in a second, leaving only behind the clicking of her high heels.  

“We should go, too,” Zayn says, remaining in place, eyes fixed on the photo. He feels Niall as soon as he gets closer, his arms wrapping around Zayn’s waist and his chin resting on his shoulder.  

“It’s a good picture, uh,” Zayn mumbles and he smiles when he feels Niall hum against his cheek.  

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing a kiss against Zayn’s stubble. 

It really is.

  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @mediawhorefics if you want to chat :):)


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